


Human Resources

by CaffeinatedSnail



Category: Diabolik Lovers
Genre: Acupuncture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, Dominant Reiji, F/M, Family Issues, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Touching, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-02-08 12:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 60,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedSnail/pseuds/CaffeinatedSnail
Summary: Paid blood donation sounds like a dream come true for Miyu, a broke university student. But her job interview with Reiji Sakamaki may be the start of more than she bargained for. She never should have signed that contract.
Relationships: Sakamaki Reiji/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 115
Kudos: 67





	1. Armored

_Courtesy is a lady’s armor. – Sophie Turner_

Miyu doubted that it was normal business practice to hold job interviews in dimly lit coffee shops an hour before closing. Then again, blood donation was hardly a normal business, and the interview process for her desired position was about as far from normal as one could get. The advertisement had been posted on a bulletin board outside the plasma donation center:

“Type O negative blood donor urgently needed for multiple patients on a long-term basis. Competitive five-figure compensation package.”

Of course it had to be a scam. Miyu had donated plasma a grand total of twice, and it was quickly apparent that she could earn more money doing almost anything else. She had also never heard of whole blood donation in the private sphere. Still, type O negative blood was the rarest type, and part of her wanted to believe that her blood was special enough to merit a five-figure compensation package. She took a picture of the advertisement – as a joke, she told herself, to show people for a laugh – and saved it on her phone.

A few days later, on the last day of April, Miyu was huddled in a corner of her room, hunched over the small floor table she used as a desk. The night was unseasonally cold, and no creative arrangement of blankets could drive the chill out of her legs and feet. The property description had referred to her room as a “cozy bohemian garret” in a “spacious, centrally located share house,” but this was code for a poorly insulated attic room, in a share house where students were packed in like cattle in stalls – centrally located in a questionable part of town. No matter, Miyu had thought. It was the lowest rent she could find within walking (more like trekking) distance of campus. The room consisted almost entirely of oddly angled eaves and gables, such that there were few places that she could stand upright. Miyu told herself this was a plus, since she didn’t need any real furniture.

Since it was the last day of the month, Miyu was looking over her budget. “Budget” was how she referred to an ever-growing barrage of loan payments and overdue tuition bills, counteracted by feeble attempts at payment from various part-time jobs and (in two instances) the plasma donation center. She had hoped to power through the last two semesters of university on sheer momentum and force of will. The bills could wait until she had a full-time job after graduation. But now, after an uncomfortable conversation at the financial aid office and a few veiled threats from her landlord, she saw it was impossible. The numbers didn’t add up.

Miyu’s phone beeped – an email alert – and she perked up with Pavlovian speed, hoping it was a message from the part-time job agency. But it was an email from her little brother, Ichiro, the golden child.

_Hi Miyu,_

_I hope you’re doing okay. I know you’re bad at keeping in touch, but you really need to tell me you’re alive once in a while. Are you getting ready for final exams? I’ve been studying nonstop. Mom is breathing down my neck even more without you here._

_I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to come home. Mom and Dad don’t talk about you but this is making them crazy. They’re talking about taking a trip to Tatsuyama, as if they just want to take some scenic tour, and I know it’s because they’re imagining you and Touma living there. You can’t actually believe that they never want to see you again._

_You can just blame Touma for everything. Say he brainwashed you. Classic evil boyfriend. You’re good at dramatic stories, and it’s not like they could hate him more than they already do. I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn. It’s stupid to let him ruin your life like this. And it’s selfish. You always say you need more time, and I’m stuck knowing what’s really going on, hoping Mom and Dad don’t suddenly ask me about it. I don’t know how long I can keep this dumb promise. Write back to me._

_Ichiro_

Miyu reread the email three times before setting her phone down, a dull weight growing in her stomach. Ichiro would never understand, since he’d grown up in the warm light of their parents’ favor rather than the fog of their indifference. He didn’t need to prove his worth. Miyu was not going to come home broke and defeated, spinning a sorry tale about how Touma had backed out of their elopement, listening to her parents smugly reaffirm how right they had been. Miyu was going to come home victorious, a college graduate with a lucrative job, on the arm of a boyfriend her parents wouldn’t dare find fault with. Her armor would be perfect, without a chink to be found.

She needed to earn enough to stay in university the next two semesters. She feared that taking time off to work would be the start of a downward spiral, with all hope of graduation shrinking away out of sight. She needed another part-time gig. Miyu reached for her phone to peruse the job boards, but found herself looking at the photo of the blood donation advertisement instead. It seemed to be beckoning her. She let out a resigned sigh.

“Nigerian prince, here I come,” Miyu said aloud. She had a habit of talking aloud to herself when she did something impulsive, as if casting the situation in a humorous light for an imaginary audience would justify her idiocy. She quickly composed an email inquiring as to the details of the opportunity, expressing interest, thanking the recipient (doubtless a Nigerian prince) for his time, etc. Then she hit “send.”

The reply came sooner than expected – within an hour – and she was surprised by the Nigerian prince’s personalized response and impressive command of the Japanese language. Apparently a recession forced even scammers to up their game. He requested a current (this word was bolded) copy of her resume, with a cover letter describing her reasons for applying for the position. This seemed premature considering that she still knew next to nothing about the job. Still, it didn’t feel sinister, like a request for a bank account number or home address or medical records. Miyu double-checked that her resume really was current, then typed up an over-eager cover letter full of vague catchphrases like “detail-oriented,” “people person,” and “strong worth ethic.” She sent it and waited.

This was the start of a bizarre exchange that took place over the course of a few weeks, evolving from correspondence to tangible assignments. She was required to get a full medical examination (prepaid), a physical fitness test (prepaid), and a consultation at a traditional medicine clinic (also prepaid). She needed to send in the results of three different personality tests and write two original essays – one on the changing landscape of medical ethics, and one on the stabilizing role of hierarchy in human society. This was heartening, since Miyu was good at writing essays.

At the same time, the Nigerian prince (a real stickler for correct grammar, as it turned out) gave Miyu a rough description of what the job would entail: on-call blood donation to no fewer than six clients at a treatment facility in another prefecture. These clients suffered from a rare medical condition that was never described in detail. The timeframe was from May to November, which meant Miyu would need to take time off school after all. The delay was more than worth it when this job could pay for the entirety of her college education, but the enormity of a six-month gig made her nervous. She had never signed a contract for such a long time period before, and it felt like a staggering commitment. She comforted herself with the thought that perhaps at the interview, she could negotiate for a shorter trial period to start with.

This thought quickly dissipated once the interview was underway, as it soon became obvious that her clients’ “patient advocate” was not the negotiating type. Mr. Reiji Sakamaki had been waiting for her at a small table in the corner of the gloomy coffee shop, and no sooner did she arrive than he scolded her for being late. (Late by not one but two minutes.) Her unforgivable lack of punctuality triggered an entire lecture on the value of other people’s time and a number of references to the 6 months indicated in the contract, as if he feared she would show up to the job a month late. Miyu tried to look attentive without being too self-incriminating, but she wasn’t wholly listening to his tirade. She was too intrigued by his appearance.

His pale skin excluded him from the ranks of Nigerian princes, but he could easily pass as a prince of some other kind. He bore himself like an aristocrat despite the shabby surroundings. Or perhaps the surroundings enhanced his aura of nobility? He seemed a bit young to be a patient advocate, more like a college student really, if princes went to college. His glasses highlighted the scholarly vibe. Oddly, he wore a white glove on one hand. Did he suffer from a deathly fear of the germs lurking on elevator buttons…?

Miyu stared a bit too long before realizing that not only had he stopped talking, but he had asked her a question, and she had no idea what it was. She smiled apologetically. “Pardon?”

“What would you like to drink?”

“Oh.” She felt stupid and glanced up at the wall-mounted menu, shrouded in shadows above the counter. She needed to recover her gracious interview façade. “Well, I suppose I’ll have some…” Why was the menu written in such tiny script? She squinted. “Some green tea?”

“The tea here is of atrocious quality. Would you prefer juice or milk?”

Just let me drink my atrocious tea, Miyu thought. She had frequented this place before her finances took a nosedive, and she liked their tea just fine, thank you very much. But she had already managed to fall out of Mr. Sakamaki’s good graces by arriving late, and she might as well humor him. She craned her neck to see the juice selection. “Orange juice?”

“Orange juice has a high glycemic index and would be overly stimulating at this late hour. Lemon juice would be more appropriate.”

“Oh, I see.” Were patient advocates always this health-conscious? And pushy?

“You may remain seated. I will place our orders.” Mr. Sakamaki began to rise.

Miyu scrambled to her feet as well, eager to make up for her tardiness however she could. “Oh, no. Please allow me…” Her voice faded away as Mr. Sakamaki threw her a disapproving glare.

“It would be remiss of me to allow a lady to pay her own way. And it is terribly rude to refuse a potential employer’s generosity.” Looking miffed, he went to the counter and ordered two glasses of – Miyu cringed – _unsweetened_ lemon juice. She expected him to come back and sit down, but he lingered at the counter and she realized he was closely watching the barista, probably to ensure that no sugar found its way into their lemon juice.

At least this gave her a brief respite. Miyu took the opportunity to smooth her skirt, double-check that her phone was set to vibrate, and pull her chair a bit closer to the table. Her hands kept sweating no matter how many times she tried to subtly wipe them on her skirt, and the cheap polyester fabric seemed to only spread the sweat around rather than absorbing it. She needed to refocus and not allow Mr. Sakamaki’s insufferable attitude to throw her off. This was like any other interview, she told herself. She just needed to act earnest and agreeable and a little bit impressed, and keep responding as if Mr. Sakamaki was the voice of reason rather than the voice of…

“Your lemon juice.” He had returned sooner than expected with two ominously tall glasses. They were full to the brim without a single ice cube. Miyu thanked him, took a sip, and felt her mouth pucker despite her best efforts. A hint of smile appeared on Mr. Sakamaki’s face. “Delicious, isn’t it? Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s very refreshing.” Miyu took a bigger gulp to prove it and nearly spat it out, but managed to swallow. This interview had already started out badly, and it was only getting worse. But he was pulling out a manila folder now and opening it to reveal a list of questions. Finally! She at least had confidence in her question-answering skills.

Mr. Sakamaki started with some basic questions related to her education and previous work experience, gradually sliding into more personal territory as he brought up the results of her personality tests. How agreeable was she? Did she consider herself a team player? What was an instance where she obeyed an authority figure despite misgivings? (Miyu could think of nothing, and ended up heavily embellishing an incident at a previous job.) Did she exercise discretion in all her dealings? How did she demonstrate flexibility in her everyday life?

Fifteen minutes stretched into twenty, and it was starting to feel more like an interrogation than an interview. Miyu answered questions between sips of lemon juice, trying to keep up with Mr. Sakamaki’s relentless pace of drinking (did he have taste buds of steel?). She had heard stories of female office workers who secretly dumped their drinks into potted plants at office events, to give the appearance of holding their liquor and “keeping up with the boys.” She stared longingly at the half-dead ficus tree next to their table and wished that Mr. Sakamaki would glance away for even a moment.

“Do you take an interest in horticulture, or have I managed to bore you?”

Miyu snapped to attention. “I’m sorry. The plant just caught my eye, and…”

“Ficus benjamina,” Mr. Sakamaki said, reaching out to slide a leaf between his gloved fingers. “Clearly neglected. A most unfortunate specimen. What is your amateur assessment? Does it have any hope of survival?”

He seemed to be mocking her. “I suppose it does look a little hopeless,” she said, feeling hopeless herself.

“Hopeless?” Mr. Sakamaki raised an eyebrow. “That seems like a rather hasty judgment. Your cover letter stated that you had a positive outlook and enjoyed taking on new challenges. Isn’t it too soon to condemn this” – he glanced at the plant again – “admittedly poor excuse for a ficus?”

“I think it’s just as important to know when to give up as when to press on,” Miyu replied, surprised by her own boldness (would he think her witty?) and hoping this would steer the conversation back into some semblance of an interview.

“Is changing direction the same as giving up?”

It felt like a trick question. “Only if you end up going in a direction you don’t want to go, I suppose.” She didn’t see how a ficus tree could change direction anyway.

Surprisingly, Mr. Sakamaki seemed satisfied with her answer. He nodded and leaned back in his chair, seeming to ponder for a moment before asking, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“What?” It came out sounding ruder than she intended. She tried again. “Excuse me?”

He looked at her expectantly.

“No, I don’t,” Miyu conceded, “but why is that relevant?”

“It is relevant with regard to the transfer of communicable diseases, which could be devastating for the clients who would receive your blood.” Mr. Sakamaki leaned forward again and held out his gloved right hand, motioning to the tabletop. “Your hands, please.”

Obeying without thinking, Miyu put her hands on the table before suddenly wondering why, and she tensed when he picked the left one up. Gently, as if handling delicate porcelain, he lifted the ring finger and inspected it closely, holding it mere inches from his face. Miyu was too flustered to move. He did the same with her right hand, paying particular attention to the space between her knuckle and first joint. After a few seconds that felt like minutes, he put it down.

“What was that for?” Miyu asked, injecting her voice with as much nonchalance as she could manage. As if hand inspections were par for the course in job interviews.

“Most couple rings would leave an indentation, and perhaps a lightened mark,” he said, and explained no further. Miyu felt indignant at the implication that she might have been lying – and surprised that he would take lack of a ring indentation as concrete proof of singledom. (Touma had never given her a ring.) But before she could think of how to respond, Mr. Sakamaki was pulling several manila folders out of his briefcase without so much as a glance at her. She quickly withdrew her hands to her lap, where they twisted against each other, clammy and tense. She felt irrational relief that he had been wearing a glove, so he wouldn’t know how much her hands were sweating.

“Since we’re on the topic of honesty, let’s continue in this vein,” he said, placing the folders on the table and looking at Miyu over tented fingers. It was strange to see a gloved and gloveless hand juxtaposed like that. It made Miyu think of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and she wondered briefly which hand would belong to which. She noticed there was no ring on his bare left hand.

Mr. Sakamaki leaned forward slightly. “Are you an honest person?”

Miyu was taken aback. She couldn’t say yes. She wasn’t perfectly honest in every way, and she got the feeling that he would take a “yes” as proof of dishonesty somehow. But how could she say no? Mr. Sakamaki was smiling at her. He only ever seemed to smile when she was in an awkward position.

“I try to be honest,” Miyu said finally.

“Trying implies failure. When have you failed to be honest?”

This was so much worse than being asked about mistakes at a previous job, or about her weaknesses as a person. Miyu clenched her fingers in her lap. “It’s hard for me to be honest about what I think sometimes. I don’t want to offend other people or hurt their feelings.” That was a nice positive spin. At least she sounded kind-hearted.

“So you tell people what they want to hear? You flatter them? You play along with their delusions and feed into their errors of judgment?”

He made it sound terrible. “It’s not… that extreme,” Miyu amended. “I just don’t want to cause unnecessary conflict. Sometimes it’s better not to say what I really think.”

“Remaining silent is not dishonest. Nobody would argue that. You should answer the questions that I asked, not divert the topic to make yourself appear innocent.” Mr. Sakamaki’s eyes glinted dangerously behind his glasses. “Please provide a concrete example of your dishonesty.”

Was he serious? Who would actually ask this in an interview? Miyu could think of all too many instances of dishonesty – mostly her creative excuses for lateness – but she was too ashamed to say any of them out loud. Mr. Sakamaki had just made white lies seem like a serious crime, and it seemed like she would be convicted no matter what she said.

“It seems this question is too difficult for you.” Mr. Sakamaki assumed an expression of mild concern. “Perhaps you suffer from a poor memory, so allow me to be more specific. Have you been dishonest with me?”

Miyu’s eyes widened. “No! I don’t make things up when I answer interview questions.” (She suddenly remembered the embellishing, but really, that hardly counted.) “And all my documents are real. I’m not a scammer or anything-“

“Do you like lemon juice?”

She was cornered. “It’s not my favorite.”

“Do you like it or not?”

“It’s not that I _dislike_ it, it’s-“

He reached across the table and snapped his fingers, right in her face. Miyu jumped so hard that her chair nearly tipped back. “Do you like it? A yes or no will suffice.”

She was defeated. “No. I don’t like it.”

Mr. Sakamaki sat back. “Was it so hard to admit that? Why did you try to make me believe that you liked it when you could not even conceal your distaste? Do you realize that such behavior is an insult to the intelligence of others?”

Miyu was still recovering from the shock of him snapping his fingers in her face. It felt too surreal to have really happened – like the way he had inspected her hands for rings. The laws of personal space dictated an invisible line across the center of the table that one should not cross, and he had crossed it twice now.

“At its core, dishonesty is manipulative,” Mr. Sakamaki continued. “It is an attempt to induce certain behavior in others, when you know that honesty would elicit a different reaction. Did you think I would view you more favorably if you liked the lemon juice?”

Miyu was too mortified to look up at him – she stared fixedly at the line where his crisp white shirtfront disappeared into his dark vest – but she could feel his condescension chipping away at her meek shell to reveal the hard, bright, defiant streak inside. He had somehow seen through her (or maybe only suspected?) and now he was goading her to reveal the self she was carefully hiding. Miyu didn’t want to be seen. She wanted to get through the interview with a stoic smile and go home and wallow in her assured failure. And she was going to make a graceful finish regardless of Mr. Sakamaki’s mind games. She sat up a little straighter.

“I’m sorry for misleading you about the lemon juice,” she said, as placidly as possible. “I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for your recommendation.” Ugh, she was sounding like him now.

Mr. Sakamaki was unmoved. “One can express gratitude without resorting to lying. I don’t require an explanation. A simple apology will suffice.”

“I’m sorry,” Miyu said again, unable to fully conceal the resentment in her voice. She didn’t really want to conceal it anyway. It seemed she had little to lose at this point.

“At least you’re capable of apologizing, even if it’s not sincere,” Mr. Sakamaki said. His tone was far too blasé considering what he was saying, and then suddenly he was all business again. “Doubtless you have some questions for me as well.”

The way he switched modes between merciless accuser and accommodating potential employer was giving Miyu a case of mental whiplash.

“Then again, perhaps you have no questions about the position at all.”

“I do!” she said. “I mean, about the frequency. I’m supposed to be donating blood for six clients, but I thought you could only donate blood once every two months or something-“

He cut her off. “The human body holds approximately ten pints of blood. Each typical donation at, say, the Red Cross averages one pint, or 10% of the total. A human can lose up to 15% of capacity with no serious issues. 30% will cause the skin to grow pale. 40% will induce shock, and beyond that… death.”

Miyu stiffened. Mr. Sakamaki seemed to sense her discomfort and took a leisurely sip of lemon juice before continuing.

“None of your clients will require a full pint at a time. These are… incremental donations, if you will. A healthy person can provide multiple such micro-donations without the currently recommended eight-week waiting period.”

Miyu wanted to ask him about the volume and waiting period of these so-called micro-donations, but he was already pulling a sheaf of papers out of the folder and placing it before her.

“An innovative addition to our micro-donation program is the incorporation of traditional medicine techniques to ensure maximum blood restoration and rapid physical rejuvenation. With a combined regimen of acupuncture, moxibustion, and individually prescribed herbs and dietary guidelines, we can guarantee positive results for both donors and recipients.”

He seemed to be making a sales pitch to a boardroom rather than to a sleep-deprived university student. Miyu started to leaf through the documents – they were full of detailed acupuncture meridian diagrams and huge nutrition charts printed in tiny fonts – but she was interrupted by Mr. Sakamaki flipping open another folder.

“I am pleased to inform you that you have demonstrated adequate viability as a candidate for the position. This is the contract. Please read it over and sign where indicated.” He paused, and as if making an enormous concession, added, “You may ask questions if any sections are unclear to you.”

Miyu gaped at him. “You’re offering me the position?”

“Is there a reason you’re so surprised? Some fatal flaw I am as yet unaware of?”

“No,” she said, a bit too emphatically. “I just assumed that if I passed the interview, you would call me in a few days… or something…”

Mr. Sakamaki’s expression fluctuated between amusement and suspicion, and to escape eye contact, Miyu looked down and began reading the contract. She soon found herself drowning in legal terminology. Were all contracts this obtuse? (She had signed many contracts but never felt such a powerful urge to read one so closely.) She wanted to ask a question about nearly every other sentence, but under the weight of his oppressive gaze, she decided to save all questions for the end and prioritize them. She wished he would stop looking at her while she was reading. Did he not realize the pressure it put on her? Or was he doing it on purpose?

She turned to the next page of the contract. It was equally inscrutable. Mr. Sakamaki let out an impatient sigh. She skipped a particularly dense paragraph and moved on to the next page. She felt palpable relief when she finally reached the signature page.

“When was the last time you received an optical exam?” Mr. Sakamaki asked abruptly.

Miyu blinked. “A few years ago…? My eyesight has always been 20/20, so…”

“You are clearly due for another one. There is no other explanation for such a deplorably slow pace of reading. Unless…” He gave her an unnecessarily piercing look. “Japanese is your second language?”

“No!” He knew her educational history. Was he trying to be insulting? “It’s just that the legal terminology…”

“Are there words here that you are unfamiliar with? Point them out and I will provide definitions.”

Miyu helplessly scanned one page of the contract after another. She did know all the words. But the way they were strung together rendered them as unintelligible as another language entirely. She looked up cautiously.

Mr. Sakamaki appeared bored. “Do you have a specific question?”

“Can I have someone else look over the contract for me?”

“Our attorney would be happy to do so for a set fee.”

Miyu guessed it would be obscenely expensive. “I mean someone else…”

“This contract deals with sensitive private medical information, which page three clearly states may not be disclosed to a third party for any reason. If you wish to consult our attorney, I can provide you with his contact information.”

Miyu quickly scanned page three again. “Are any parts of the contract negotiable?”

“Such as?”

“It says that I have to reside on the premises of the treatment facility. Could I get a housing stipend instead?” If she found cheap accommodations like her attic room, she could dedicate a large portion of the stipend to other purposes.

“Residence is non-negotiable. Our high monitoring standards and the intensive traditional medicine regimen require your presence at the treatment facility on a daily basis. The immediate vicinity has no suitable housing options, and a commute of any length would require the employment of a driver. Such an expense, combined with a housing stipend, would make for a financially untenable arrangement.”

Does he always talk like this, Miyu wondered, or did he memorize canned responses in preparation for the interview? She couldn’t imagine having to deal with someone like him on a daily basis. She imagined a bevy of longsuffering coworkers who had to put up with the bespectacled prince of lemon juice and manila folders. He probably reorganized his filing cabinet for fun.

“I will take your lack of response as an acceptance of the terms, and as an indication that you have no further questions.” Mr. Sakamaki flipped the pages of the contract over to expose the signature page once more. Seeing Miyu hesitate, he added, “As there are numerous applicants waiting to be interviewed, I cannot afford to waste time on indecision. The preliminary stages of the interview process led me to believe you were a fitting candidate. However, I admit that this may not be the case. Perhaps the next interview will prove more fruitful.” He made as if to get up from his chair.

Miyu had a policy of always sleeping on an important decision – even more so when she had a twinge of doubt. And if she had a moment to think, she was sure she’d have more questions to ask. But if it really was now or never… Ignoring the unsettled feeling in her stomach, she picked up the pen and quickly signed the contract in all the highlighted sections, printing her name neatly next to each signature.

“I see that penmanship is not your strong suit,” Mr. Sakamaki said, in a tone that suggested his judgment was irreversible. “Perhaps a correspondence course in calligraphy would prove beneficial.”

Miyu wasn’t sure how to react to such pointless criticism. She tried to laugh it off. “Well, no one’s perfect. We’re all only human…”

“Speak for yourself. And if you’re aware of your shortcomings, it should be all the more reason to strive harder for perfection rather than make generalized excuses. Those working in the medical field should cultivate a peerless sense of personal responsibility.”

His tone had grown even colder, as if securing her signature had freed him from the shackles of basic courtesy. Miyu was startled by how aggravated he sounded. But she forced herself to ignore it and pointedly changed the subject. “So the start date is Monday, May 22, right? Next week?”

“As stated in the contract.” Mr. Sakamaki’s voice was smooth and professional again, but annoyance lurked beneath it. “You will be picked up at your current residence at three o’ clock in the afternoon, and I suggest you make a greater effort to be punctual than you did today. Upon arrival at the treatment facility at five o’ clock, there will be a guided tour of the facility and grounds, orientation session, and welcome dinner.” He pulled out yet another folder and thrust it at her. “The enclosed guidelines indicate the recommended items to include in your luggage and personal effects. Take careful note of the list of contraband items as well. The possession of contraband will result in disciplinary measures.”

He was starting to sound like a cross between an overzealous secretary and a prison warden. It seemed like a better fit for him to work in airport security than patient advocacy. Then again, if he handled airport security, perhaps the planes would never leave the ground. Miyu had a sudden mental image of him insisting on enhanced security checks for every single passenger.

“I will expect you to have read and absorbed all the guidelines prior to your arrival. As I stated earlier, adherence to facility rules will be tantamount in maintaining a positive working environment.” Mr. Sakamaki stood up surprisingly swiftly and swept several of the folders back into his briefcase. “Thank you for your unquestioning cooperation.”

He extended his gloved right hand to her. Did he want to shake hands? Miyu was surprised by such a liberal gesture, but perhaps he dealt with Americans frequently. She stood up and gamely reached out to clasp his hand. But he took hers first and gripped her fingers firmly, turning her palm to face downward, and then he bowed his head slightly as he brought her hand up to his lips. She felt the lightest of kisses brush her knuckles.

He was looking at her as he did it, and caught unawares she looked back at him, and she saw him seeing her. There was a strange, unsettling moment of truth in which she felt they understood each other. They understood they were playing a game, each in their own way, and the rules dictated that they never admit it. He knew that she knew that he knew, and so on.

Miyu allowed herself to hold his gaze longer than courtesy allowed. There was a transgressive thrill in not looking away, in accepting his unspoken challenge. He looked both pleased and unsurprised, as though he’d expected this somehow. Miyu noticed the smallest of smiles as he finally lowered her hand and let go.

“Until next time,” he said, with a nominal bow, and departed.

In the following days, Miyu wondered what he meant. Would she see him on May 23, or did he mean later on? Perhaps he stopped by the facility regularly? And the words before that – “thank you for your unquestioning cooperation” – played over and over in her mind. The “unquestioning” part disturbed her. Was it Mr. Sakamaki’s way of implying that she had asked too many questions? She had thought that interviewers liked to be asked questions, since it showed a spirit of initiative. Or did he suspect that she would be less than cooperative in the future? Either way, it felt oddly threatening. Mr. Sakamaki’s personality was threatening enough, and she wished he could have ended their interaction like a normal person instead of making her do mental gymnastics with his choice of words. (The kiss on her hand was too outrageous to fully process, and she dismissed it as a quirk even while guiltily trying to recall every detail.)

But there wasn’t much time to ponder what Mr. Sakamaki had said or did. In the next few days, Miyu needed to inform her landlord of her imminent departure (he took it as a betrayal), notify the university that she was taking a semester off (they were indifferent), give notice at her various part-time jobs (they were understanding), and bid temporary farewell to her classmates (they acted like she was going off on a great adventure). She hoped to visit her old neighborhood occasionally on weekends, but the treatment facility was far enough away that she doubted she would see many of her friends again before the following semester.

Online maps indicated that the facility was actually quite isolated. Miyu comforted herself with the fact that there was a church within walking distance, so there must be houses scattered in the area, too, in order for the church to have congregants. She imagined snug little cottages nestled in a bucolic countryside. Perhaps she would make some quaint provincial friends. Perhaps she would meet some tanned, down-to-earth country boy with great promise and ambition (different from Touma and superior in every way) and start a forbidden romance… not that Mr. Sakamaki had expressly forbidden it, but she was sure he wouldn’t approve. Oh well. Apparently he equated relationships with rings, and it was easy enough to steer clear of rings.

The days passed in a blur of goodbyes, and on May 22, thoughts of the five-figure compensation package buzzed in Miyu’s head as she packed her belongings and did a final check of her room. Her bohemian garret was now the cleanest it had been since she’d moved in. The afternoon sunlight from the warped windows stretched in golden squares and trapezoids across the empty floor. The room looked sad and foreign now, like a stranger’s room. She had never been fond of the place, but now it stood as a witness to her first stint of independence, those lonely months after she broke free of her parents and Touma broke free of her. Miyu felt a strange pang when she closed the door for the last time and returned the key.

Before she knew it, a black car was pulling into the driveway of the share house. It was precisely three o’ clock in the afternoon. Her new job was about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to all Reiji fans! Reiji is my favorite (that's probably obvious), and I based his character here off his drama CD content more than the game content. I'm still in the process of deciding how much this story will actually diverge from canon. Le sigh. Let me know what you guys think of Reiji's characterization, and your thoughts in general!


	2. Mirage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand we’re back! Those of you who were here from the start, thanks for hanging in there while I took some time to develop the overarching plot. It was killing me to not be able to update sooner!

_We need the sweet pain of anticipation to tell us we are really alive. – Albert Camus_

The elderly driver said nothing as they whizzed down the road, the urban crush of buildings gradually fading into a smattering of houses surrounded by fields. Miyu occasionally caught his eye in the rear-view mirror, but he had not spoken a word beyond their brief greeting in the driveway of the share house. She wanted to ask him about the treatment facility – what it was like working there, what sorts of people were there – and above all wanted to know if she would have the displeasure of seeing Mr. Sakamaki today. But the driver gave off a gruff, foreboding air and Miyu was too timid to start a conversation. So she began reviewing the guidelines Mr. Sakamaki had given her one more time.

The list of recommended items to bring was quite short and included items that seemed painfully obvious (wouldn’t any sane person bring pajamas if they were going to live somewhere for six months?). The clothing guidelines were frighteningly precise. Miyu had eventually given up on trying to measure whether every one of her garments followed the rules – she had better things to do than try on every blouse she owned and measure the exact number of centimeters it dipped below her collarbone. Covering exposed skin seemed to be a recurring theme, so she had invested in a few cheap pairs of leggings to wear under her more questionable skirts.

The list of contraband items was also short, but the categories were surprisingly broad:

_Food or drinks of any kind, including alcoholic beverages, chewing gum and breath mints_

This seemed unnecessarily draconian. Miyu had decided to bring a small amount of gum anyway, to stave off late-night food cravings in the privacy of her room. It wasn’t as if she was going to walk around chewing it in public. Mr. Sakamaki probably had quite a lot to say about people who chewed gum, and none of it complimentary.

_Over-the-counter or illicit drugs_

Any residential medical facility would have an in-house pharmacy, after all.

_Cosmetic products and personal care products (hair care and hygiene products are provided)_

This was completely unreasonable, and Miyu had ignored it and packed her entire makeup bag. She never left the house without at least a little makeup – her mother had made her feelings on that clear. She had never let Touma see her without makeup, either, though she had managed to trick him many times with her “no-makeup” makeup look.

After all, she needed to look good, because who knows who she’d meet in this magical new place? She liked to imagine the treatment facility as a bright, sun-washed place with gleaming white hallways and huge windows – an open floor plan with columns and partitions and maybe even escalators. It would be the sort of interior she saw in TV dramas, full of handsome young doctors in white coats. She daydreamed about the dramatic love triangle that would doubtless ensue between her and two medical professionals. As the TV drama formula dictated, one would be a surgeon. Tall and thin and clever, maybe a genius, a little cold… She’d catch his eye because she’d impressed him somehow (even though he was terribly hard to impress), and he’d be fascinated and become obsessed with her. And one would be a little shorter but have a sturdy, muscular physique like the aikido sensei she’d had a crush on in middle school. He’d be warm and earthy and unbearably _physical_ – a physical therapist, maybe. Compassionate. Heart on his sleeve. They would become rivals over her affections. Maybe there would even be a fistfight.

Indeed, a fistfight would be the only sort of fight likely to happen on the premises, as all weapons appeared to be banned. This category was the longest entry on the list of contraband:

_Weapons or explosives of any kind, including firearms, ammunition, stun guns, tasers, swords, knives, razor blades, brass knuckles, tactical batons, bo staffs, ice picks, bladed farming implements, shuriken, boomerangs, nunchaku, fireworks, flare guns, land mines, thermite, grenades, and pepper spray_

Miyu was a bit disturbed by how detailed this particular section was. It also seemed bizarre that pepper spray was included amongst actual weapons. She had no intention of leaving hers behind – what if the neighborhood around the facility was poorly lit at night, and she was accosted by a drunk? She also decided to bring her tiny Swiss Army knife. It hardly qualified as a weapon, and it was too useful to do without in an unfamiliar place.

Aside from the lists of recommended and contraband items, the guidelines included a list of facility rules, which ranged from the sensible (no smoking) to the finicky (no walking on particular plots of grass) to the unnerving (no screaming for any reason). There was also a detailed section on how to handle any injuries that involved “broken skin or bleeding, no matter how minor or superficial.” Miyu wasn’t sure why a cut on one’s finger would necessitate sprinting down a red-lined route on the facility map to a designated “treatment location” (there were several, indicated with little crosses), and she wondered if the facility was crawling with blood-borne pathogens just waiting to infect her. Why else the undue emphasis on receiving treatment “without delay”?

And the facility map made the place look like a maze. Miyu had used a highlighter to indicate what she expected to be key routes – from her room to the dining area, from her room to the lab, from her room to the garden – but she hoped there would be ample signage in big print like an airport. Spatial awareness (and mazes) had never been her forte. Ichiro always said she should pray not to be reincarnated as a lab rat. (He liked the idea of reincarnation but wouldn’t admit to believing in it. Miyu liked the idea of a merciful God who loved her despite all her flaws and perhaps even more than her brother, but she, too, kept her opinions locked away, safe from their parents’ objections to lack of empirical evidence.)

Miyu must have dozed off looking at the map, because the next thing she knew, the car had stopped. She was curled up comfortably against the window, feet tucked under her on the seat, her seat belt shoved down against her arm. She didn’t want to wake up. She would have been happy to keep riding for hours and hours while she slipped in and out of that glorious late-afternoon delirium. She couldn’t remember what her dream was about – it had just left an intoxicating impression that couldn’t be pinpointed.

“Miss, we’ve arrived,” the driver said unnecessarily, and Miyu heard his door open and then shut. She didn’t want to wake up. She forced herself to open her eyes, unfold her stiff limbs, and climb out of the car. She tried to cling to the last remnants of the dream, but it disintegrated upon contact with sunlight.

They were in the driveway of an enormous mansion, all brick and ivy and rows of tall windows that gleamed in the dying light. It resembled a photo in a history book more than it did the modern white treatment facility Miyu had imagined. It looked like it could easily be home to a hundred people, and it ought to be teeming with servants and governesses and several generations of a noble family, from squalling infants to hawk-like matriarchs. She half-expected a 19th-century European aristocrat (complete with waistcoat and cravat) to come riding up on horseback to greet her. No, that was silly; there ought to be an overwhelmingly perky nurse in perky-colored scrubs with a clipboard, eager to welcome her to this “beautifully restored historic space.” Or a bored-looking administrator who was tired of everyone and everything (probably as a result of having to work with Mr. Sakamaki).

But there were no people to be seen, and no other cars parked in the driveway. The air was heavy and still. Miyu glanced blearily around the grounds as the driver unloaded her luggage, but saw no signs of life other than pristine landscaping and ancient-looking trees. She thought the driver would help bring her luggage to the front door, but he was already climbing back into the car, seemingly in a hurry to leave. He had started the car before she could even say a word of thanks.

Watching the car round the bend of the driveway and disappear from sight, Miyu felt a tiny prickling of nervousness. All the promise and excitement she had felt at three o’ clock had evaporated, leaving her drained and jittery at the same time. Her blouse had a strange crease across the front – probably from her odd sleeping position – and she could feel wispy hairs escaping from her elaborate crown braid. She was somehow already too hot and felt irritable after being woken so suddenly. She would feel better if her dream hadn’t been interrupted. What had it been about, anyway? She strained to remember and dragged both her wheeled suitcases across the bumpy cobblestones up to the front steps.

The front door opened before she reached it, and the tall form of Mr. Sakamaki appeared. Wearing a crisp white shirt and black vest, standing in the doorway of the mansion, he looked for all the world like a butler. A rather intimidating butler.

“You’re early,” he said, and she couldn’t tell whether his tone was accusatory or approving. She was expending a huge amount of effort in attempting to look happy to see him. Before she had finished bowing to him, she found he was already at her side, pulling the suitcases away from her and carrying them up the steps.

“That’s all right,” she began tentatively, trying to ratchet her voice higher into a cheerful tone. “I can-“

“It is thoughtless to pack more than one can comfortably carry,” Mr. Sakamaki huffed, reaching the threshold and lugging her things across. “Please refrain from undue exertion in the future. Your exercise regimen has been tailored specifically to your needs, and you ought not exceed it.” He abandoned her luggage at the top of the stairs, and Miyu grabbed it as she hurried after him.

Upon seeing the exterior of the mansion, Miyu had assumed it was a historic building transformed into a medical facility in the typical way – gutted and soulless, with a lifeless, neutral interior. Like a snail’s shell where the lovely, delicate creature had been scraped out, leaving only emptiness. But to her surprise, the front door led into a grandiose entrance hall. It was decorated in period fashion, complete with chandelier and sweeping staircase. The floors, carpets, wallpaper, and molding all looked original. There wasn’t even an ugly welcome desk.

She felt very small. The suitcase wheels were embarrassingly loud in the cavernous space. Mr. Sakamaki strode to the stairs with Miyu scrambling in his wake, then turned to her. “Did you study the facility map?”

“Yes,” Miyu said in her most upbeat voice (how would he define “study”?).

“In that case, you should be able to find your room from here, yes?” 

It had happened. She had been reincarnated as a lab rat even though she wasn’t dead. She plastered on a smile. “I can probably figure it out.” She had the map, after all, and she could ask for directions as soon as she ran into someone. She glanced around hopefully. There was no one.

Mr. Sakamaki looked amused. “Your optimism is charming. I suppose you would be hopelessly lost in no time.” He took hold of her suitcases again. “We will proceed to your room and continue with a guided tour of areas of interest.” Without waiting for Miyu’s reply, he started up the stairs.

She felt foolish following him with only her overstuffed messenger bag, like a child shadowing a parent, while he carried both suitcases. He did not relinquish them at the top of the stairs as Miyu expected. As they turned down a dim corridor, she was unsure whether to continue behind him like a trailing puppy, or try to walk beside him despite the unwieldy suitcases flanking him. She was already awkwardly half-jogging to keep up with his stride. He was taller than she’d remembered, and it seemed he took only one step for every two of hers.

The mansion seemed strangely bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, like some kind of magician’s bag. She would have liked to look around to get her bearings as they turned down yet another (even dimmer) corridor, but his pace was relentless. When he finally stopped, she nearly crashed into his back.

“This is your room.” Mr. Sakamaki opened the door and stepped back rather graciously, finally releasing her luggage from his clutches. Miyu brought her suitcases inside and looked around. She was immediately struck by a pungent, metallic odor vaguely reminiscent of old coins. Like the entrance hall and the corridors, the room seemed to be the relic of a bygone era – faded but elegant wallpaper, an oversized canopy bed, and antique wooden décor. All the furnishings were so dainty and feminine that it was hard to fathom the existence of this bedroom and the rigid Mr. Sakamaki in the same building. Then again, they were both a bit stuffy in their own way.

Mr. Sakamaki was lingering in the doorway, as if an invisible barrier was preventing him from crossing into the room. Miyu remembered that she was trying to act bubbly and thought she should say something. “It’s lovely.” She wished he would leave so she could unpack.

“You will have time to unpack this evening when the other items on the agenda have been completed,” he said, as if reading her mind. “It is now time for the guided tour of the facility.”

Excellent, Miyu thought. She could finally get a glimpse of those handsome young doctors.

“Before we go,” Mr. Sakamaki said, “it is necessary to take precautionary measures.” He pulled something out of his pocket that turned out to be a small spray bottle. “This prophylactic spray must be applied every two hours when you are anywhere in the facility aside from your own room. It should be applied liberally to the whole of your person. You must ensure proper coverage on any areas of exposed skin in particular.”

Miyu made a mental note to look up the word “prophylactic.” It sounded like something antiseptic.

“Please stand with your feet apart and your arms up,” he said, brandishing the bottle like a weapon. Miyu did as commanded and pondered the successful career that Mr. Sakamaki could enjoy in airport security. He held the bottle at arm’s length and sprayed her with an expression of distaste, and once the smell hit her nose she understood why. It was the same nasty metallic smell that hung over the entire room. It was unlike any antiseptic she had ever smelled.

Mr. Sakamaki handed her the bottle. “Refills will be available in the laboratory as needed.”

“Thank you,” Miyu said, stuffing the bottle into her messenger bag. It was hard to imagine TV drama romance blossoming in this place if everybody smelled like stale money. Then again, she hadn’t noticed any such odor emanating from Mr. Sakamaki when they were in the entrance hall. Was she the only one being subjected to this stink bomb?

Mr. Sakamaki led the way back down the corridor, but this time, he pointed out rooms (or rather, closed doors) as they passed by.

“The door on the right is a linen storage closet,” he said. “Please refrain from opening it. Replacement bedding is available in your own wardrobe should you need it. I will discuss laundry procedures on the next upcoming laundry day. The door coming up on the left is a bedroom currently not in use. There should be no reason for you to enter it.” They turned a corner. “The door on the right is the music room-“

“Music room?” Miyu said, hardly noticing Mr. Sakamaki’s affronted sigh at her interruption. “Is there a piano? It would be nice to have a piano to play.”

“Yes, there is a piano,” he said, not slowing his pace. “But you are not permitted to enter the music room at random. You must reserve it in advance.”

“Oh, is there a sign-up sheet?”

“Reservations are made in person.”

“Who do I ask?”

“You may come to me with any such requests.” Mr. Sakamaki gestured to the left. “That is the game room. It contains a pool table, dartboard, and various other items of frivolous amusement. A similar reservation policy applies.”

This seemed odd. “Don’t people gather there to play together?” Miyu asked. “Why would I reserve it just for myself?”

“Staff members do not make use of the recreational facilities, and the patients operate on a different time schedule than you,” Mr. Sakamaki replied stiffly. “Furthermore, fraternization with the patients is forbidden during your initial probationary period. Details will be provided during the orientation session.”

As the tour dragged on, Miyu’s hopes of meeting anyone dwindled down to nothing. There were no doctors to be found, or patients, or even staff for that matter. The only sound in the mansion was their own footsteps. Mr. Sakamaki led her down corridor after corridor, past large paintings and faintly glowing wall sconces and an endless number of closed doors. More rooms seemed to be off-limits than not. Mr. Sakamaki seemed mainly interested in conveying an ever-growing litany of rules (no lighting fires in the fireplaces, no opening cabinets, no throwing items out of windows, no relocating the potted plants, no putting one’s feet on the furniture). Miyu acknowledged him with several pleasant permutations of “yes” and “I see,” but avoided saying anything of substance herself. At this point, she planned to save all her questions for someone (anyone) else.

They traversed a large portion of the second floor before descending to the first floor and entering the dining area. Miyu was certain she’d see staff there – maybe a kindly old cafeteria lady or a disgruntled food-service “chef” – but like the rest of the place, it was neat and clean but devoid of any signs of life. A long dining table was crowded with porcelain dishes of an astonishing variety of food (too much, considering there were only two place settings laid out), which would normally suggest that a cafeteria lady had come and gone. But the dishes were arranged so precisely that Miyu had a nagging suspicion that it was not a staff member who had put them there, but Mr. Sakamaki himself.

From the large windows that faced into the back garden, Miyu saw some benches under trees and an inviting path. But there were no doctors pushing patients in wheelchairs, no one clad in gowns and tottering around with rolling IV stands. No gardeners absentmindedly clipping hedges, no fierce middle-aged women with brooms sweeping the patio.

And then she did see someone.

It was only for a moment, but she saw him in the dying light behind a rose bush before he ducked out of sight again. He was dressed in dark clothes and had white hair, and for a moment she thought he must be an elderly landscaper. But he had moved too quickly and nimbly for that. Like a youth. Had she seen wrong? She looked at the lengthening shadows where the figure had been a moment before.

“The garden is off-limits after sunset,” Mr. Sakamaki said from directly behind her. “As is the rest of the facility. Following dinner, which concludes at half past five, you may walk for improved digestion until six o’ clock. From six o’ clock onward, if you are on the premises, you are required to stay in your room. Lights out begins at half past eight.”

Miyu only half heard what he said. She was squinting, trying to make out whether the figure was still in the shadows. She thought she saw a flash of movement, but maybe it was the wind in the leaves. No, it had moved too much to be the wind.

“Your interest in horticulture appears to be rearing its ugly head once more.”

“The patients,” Miyu began, rather incoherently. “And the other staff. Will I meet them today?”

“The patients’ condition renders them somewhat… indisposed. As I mentioned before, they operate on a different schedule. And there is no need for you to meet them personally as of yet. I will give you a briefing on each one during the orientation session after dinner. Please be seated.”

Miyu turned to the table. Its spindly legs looked ready to collapse under the weight of all the food. Mr. Sakamaki had pulled out one of the upholstered dining chairs, and she realized he was waiting for her to sit down. It felt both chivalrous and pressuring, like having a door opened for her when she was still too far away, and needing to hurry to walk through it. She sat and tried to keep her weight off it until he pushed it in for her.

“The menu has been tailored specifically to your individual constitution and your need for blood-building foods,” Mr. Sakamaki said as he took his own seat. “You must consume a balance of each dish rather than favoring some over the others. Picky eating will not be tolerated. Chew thoroughly to prevent any digestive issues, and do not eat beyond the point of satiety. Your appetite will gradually increase to match the caloric deficit created by ongoing blood donation, so there is no need for gluttony.” He picked up his chopsticks, set them back down, and glared at Miyu. “Did your parents not teach you any manners?”

“Thank you for the meal,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you-“

“I should not need to lecture you on basic table manners. You could at least try to make a good first impression on your first day here.”

They ate in silence. Miyu carefully rotated which foods she ate, paranoid that she’d be accused of whatever qualified as picky eating in Mr. Sakamaki’s book. He looked like he would be a picky eater himself – and he did eat delicately – but she was surprised to see that he consumed a large quantity of every dish on the table. When they had finished (she kept stealing glances at him to match his pace), she put her chopsticks down and offered very deliberate thanks for the food. Mr. Sakamaki sighed.

“I suppose there will be time to address your lack of manners another day,” he said. “The orientation will be conducted in the living room.” He motioned to the dirty dishes. “You are not responsible for dishes after the evening meal, but breakfast and lunch dishes are a different matter. I will demonstrate proper dishwashing procedure tomorrow morning. Shoddy technique will not be tolerated.”

Miyu was starting to wonder if the entire treatment facility was run by a staff of one. She followed him out of the dining area, glancing back through the window one last time at the ominous rose bush, and found herself in an adjoining living room. Here, she attempted a dignified pose on the sofa while he conjured up an easel-like display stand out of nowhere and began flipping the pages. It felt like a corporate presentation. He even had a slightly dangerous-looking pointer that he used to indicate words on each page for extra emphasis.

Miyu’s daily schedule was the first topic. Mr. Sakamaki started with a complicated circular chart, explaining how in traditional medicine, each organ meridian was associated with a different time of day, and how therefore the different times of day were perfectly suited for different activities. All of this translated into rigid requirements about when to take walks, when to bathe, when to read (or avoid reading), and when to socialize. By now Miyu was patently concerned about the possibility of a social life, and was pleased to hear that “enriching social activities” would be scheduled following her initial weeklong probationary period. She doubted that Mr. Sakamaki’s idea of “enriching” was the same as hers, but anything that involved other people seemed like a good idea at this point.

Next, Mr. Sakamaki revisited the facility rules and regulations in greater depth and detail. Miyu wasn’t sure how it was possible for there to still be rules that she hadn’t heard about – either in the guidelines or on the tour – but he delivered a stirring speech on topics ranging from the evils of allowing umbrellas to drip indoors to the necessity of using a hair trap on the drain in the shower (“any damages to the plumbing caused by negligence on your part will be subtracted from your compensation package”). Miyu was relieved when he finally flipped over the final page on rules and moved on to what actually interested her: the patients.

“As you know, you will be providing blood to a total of six patients,” he said. “Interpersonal contact with the patients is not permitted at this time, but the fraternization ban may be lifted in the future depending on the circumstances. You should be aware that a number of the patients demonstrate unstable behavior. It would be ill-advised to risk your mental health through excessive interaction with them, when your mental health is so closely tied to your physical condition.”

“Unstable behavior?” Miyu said.

“Exhibit A,” Mr. Sakamaki continued, flipping over a page as if he hadn’t heard her. This revealed a large color photo of a strikingly handsome young man with blonde hair and blue eyes. His features were a bit softer than Mr. Sakamaki’s, but Miyu thought they had a slight resemblance. Not that she found Mr. Sakamaki handsome, she thought, glancing over at him. He just had a very symmetrical face and well-defined features.

“This is the oldest patient, though you would never know it since he is the least mature of all. His name is Shuu.” Mr. Sakamaki said the name with such vitriol that Miyu unconsciously wrapped her arms around herself for protection. “He suffers from severe narcolepsy and lethargy. There is a possibility that you will find his good-for-nothing body draped over the furniture or sprawled out on the floor in any number of inappropriate locations. Should you encounter him, do not engage. Leave the vicinity immediately and inform me so that the contamination of his person can be removed.”

Miyu was a bit stunned by Mr. Sakamaki’s revulsion. Shuu’s perfectly proportioned face didn’t look like it justified that level of hatred, and knowing that Mr. Sakamaki despised him made her take an automatic liking to him. She had never heard of anyone narcoleptic in real life except Harriet Tubman – who was obviously heroic – and the shared diagnosis gave Shuu a similarly heroic aura. She pictured him boldly standing up to Mr. Sakamaki’s unreasonable demands, fighting for his rights like an attorney on the stand, blue eyes alight with righteous indignation. It must be very difficult being narcoleptic, Miyu thought. It would be terrifying to fall asleep somewhere and wake up with Mr. Sakamaki looming over you.

Mr. Sakamaki cleared his throat, and Shuu’s face disappeared from view as he flipped over the page to reveal no picture at all, just a name. “Exhibit B. The second oldest patient is Reiji. In comparison with the other patients, and that good-for-nothing in particular, and the population as a whole, he is a paragon of virtue and responsibility. Encountering him will be no cause for concern.”

This made Miyu think that either Reiji was an insufferable brown-nose, or really was a perfect specimen of humanity whom even Mr. Sakamaki could find no fault with. “There’s no picture of Reiji?” she asked.

“In the interest of privacy, he decided not to allow his likeness to be-“

“What does he look like?”

Rather than seeming annoyed at the interruption, Mr. Sakamaki looked like he was repressing a smile. “You’re curious?” He adjusted his glasses. “What superficial concerns you have.”

“It seems important to know, in case I run into him.”

“He has the appearance of a perfect gentleman, and you should consider yourself lucky anytime you are graced with the honor of his presence or attention.” Mr. Sakamaki turned to the next page, which displayed the face of a rather wild-looking redhead with green eyes.

“Exhibit C. The third patient, Ayato, is one of three triplet brothers. He suffers from some permutation of narcissistic personality disorder and may display obsessive or aggressive behavior at times. It is less likely that you will encounter him than that deadbeat Shuu, but if you do, inform Ayato that he must escort you to me for a formal introduction before any further interaction may take place.”

If Ayato really was some kind of aggressive narcissist, Miyu didn’t think she wanted any interaction with him at all. Then again, maybe Mr. Sakamaki’s definition of “narcissist” was “person with a sense of self-preservation.” Or maybe Ayato was a bit of a bad boy, as suggested by his tousled hair and rumpled clothes. How Mr. Sakamaki must hate that, Miyu thought, and she decided she liked Ayato as well (though she ranked him below Shuu).

She watched the page flip again to reveal a startlingly similar redhead, though this one was wearing a fedora and had longer hair. He was smirking with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Exhibit D. The fourth patient, Laito, is another of the triplets. He suffers from satyriasis-“

“I’m sorry,” Miyu said, “but what’s that?”

Mr. Sakamaki cleared his throat and for the first time, he looked genuinely uncomfortable. He let out a short sigh. “It is a condition characterized by inordinate, unrestrained interest in the fairer sex, and pursuit of licentious activities with inadequate regard for the intentions of the other party – or the feelings of those forced to witness these violations of common decency.”

Miyu tried to rephrase his convoluted words to make sure she had understood correctly. “So he’s a bit of a ladies’ man… and engages in public displays of affection?”

“He is disgusting,” Mr. Sakamaki said. He did not seem interested in elaborating. He flipped the page to reveal a ghostly pale face framed by lavender hair. This patient seemed younger than the others.

“Exhibit E. Kanato. Another of the triplets. He is capricious and hysterical, prone to crying spells and emotional reactions that explode out of proportion with their inciting incidents. Do not be fooled by his childlike façade. His erratic behavior could pose a danger to you.”

Kanato looked harmless – maybe a bit anemic, and rather sullen, but not dangerous. Miyu supposed that Mr. Sakamaki condemned the mere existence of tears as a threat to civilized society. She was scrutinizing the prominent dark circles under Kanato’s eyes when Mr. Sakamaki flipped the page one more time. This next picture was of a young man in dark clothing, with hair that was almost pure white.

“Exhibit F. Subaru. The youngest patient. He suffers from an unfortunate propensity for violence,” Mr. Sakamaki said.

Miyu wasn’t listening. She was staring at the line of his shoulders in the picture, the way they were hunched forward slightly, and imagining the figure behind the rose bush. The way it had moved into the shadows, crouching, hunched forward.

“What should I do if I run into him?” she asked.

“It is very unlikely,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “Less likely than encountering any of the other patients, in fact.”

Miyu wanted to say that she might have seen him, but she didn’t want to sound like she was contradicting Mr. Sakamaki. Or get Subaru into trouble somehow.

“Should you be approached by any of the triplets, you must request my presence for a formal introduction immediately,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “In the case of that wretched Shuu, as I said before, he is guaranteed to be asleep, so you need only request his removal. As for Subaru… I doubt he will approach you. If you see him, report to me and I will handle the situation appropriately.”

“You said he was violent?” Miyu said. Subaru had a belligerent expression in the picture, but she couldn’t imagine him hitting anybody. He looked more brooding and misunderstood than anything else.

“It mostly manifests in the form of wanton destruction of property,” Mr. Sakamaki replied in a disdainful tone. “He was suspended from high school a number of times on account of his lack of self-control.”

“He’s still in high school?” Miyu realized belatedly that the rest of the patients had looked young enough to be in high school or university as well.

“He graduated last year. All the patients are currently taking various university courses in night and online classes. Subaru is in his first year, the triplets are in their second year, and the two older patients are taking third-year courses. Although Reiji is advanced far beyond the university level, and Shuu is so negligent that his enrollment is a pointless waste of tuition.”

“I see,” Miyu said, feeling sorry for poor narcoleptic Shuu, who no doubt struggled to keep up with his class requirements through no fault of his own. She wanted to ask more about him, but figuring it would incur Mr. Sakamaki’s wrath, she decided to move on. “So what about the other patients who live here?” she asked. “Do all of them need blood transfusions, or do they have different conditions?”

“There are no other patients. Through a generous family sponsorship, this facility exists for the treatment of these six patients only.”

Considering the size of the mansion, Miyu had not expected this answer. But she knew it made sense, in light of how deserted the place was. Only six patients probably meant almost no staff at all. The gleaming white facility of her daydreams, populated with dashing young doctors, was fading away into the gloomy reality in front of her.

“Do you have any further questions?” Mr. Sakamaki asked.

“Do the patients stay in rooms like mine? I mean, are their rooms all over the facility? Or are they in a separate ward?” She wondered if Mr. Sakamaki would divulge a specific location.

“What a pointless thing to ask,” Mr. Sakamaki replied. “The patients’ rooms are among the off-limits rooms you’ve seen today. Which is all the more reason not to enter restricted areas.”

“You said they’re on a different schedule-“

“I appreciate your concern regarding the whereabouts and daily routines of the patients, but no information pertaining to them is particularly relevant while the fraternization ban is in effect. Do you have any questions that are pertinent to yourself?”

“Why exactly is there a fraternization ban?” Miyu pressed.

“I already told you,” Mr. Sakamaki said. He sounded exasperated now. “The temperamental behavior of the patients could have undesirable consequences for the outcome of this treatment program. If you continue to demonstrate such a distrustful attitude regarding institutional policy, it gives the unfortunate impression that you will be less than totally cooperative.”

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for it,” Miyu went on, emboldened by the existence of six potential allies against Mr. Sakamaki’s tyranny. “It’s just that” – she adopted a subtly pitiful expression – “it looks like there aren’t a lot of people around here, so I thought I might get lonely.”

Appealing to Mr. Sakamaki’s sense of humanity was a mistake. “The patients are not here to resolve your lack of a social life. I already informed you that enriching social activities would be scheduled following probation. Why do you never _listen_? It is quite tiresome having to repeat myself.”

Miyu fell into defiant silence, assuming a penitent air that she knew was unconvincing.

“If that is all,” Mr. Sakamaki said, with a strong implication that it _should_ be all, “we will now proceed to the laboratory. Please follow me upstairs.”

Miyu followed him in body, but her spirit was elsewhere, soaring upwards on a crescendo of renewed hope as she processed all this new information. It was disappointing that the patient population consisted of literally six people, but all of them were young like her – university students! Once the “fraternization ban” was inevitably lifted, they could all be friends. She pictured them playing darts in the game room and baking cookies in the kitchen. They would be the brothers she’d never had (Ichiro didn’t count), and maybe one of them – Shuu? – would turn into something more.

Miyu had never had male friends per se. From elementary school to university, she had always hung at the periphery of a group of girls one or two years older than herself. Miyu liked to think her friends were older because she was mature for her age, but she knew deep down that it was because she felt safe being the “baby” of the group. No one expected her to know where was good to eat, or what the latest gossip was. And no one expected her to understand boys.

Older girls had never made her feel bad about not having admirers, let alone a boyfriend; they’d laugh and say, “Oh, you’re still a baby, no need for that!” as they poured out their own romantic woes and escapades to her in lurid detail. She’d absorbed it all like a sponge, determined to put it into practice once she did have a boyfriend (Touma was on the receiving end of quite a few ill-advised “love strategies”). But Miyu had always looked beyond her little female-only circles in envy of girls who were part of mixed friend groups, shining like stars orbited by a bevy of boys who changed from friends to lovers and back again in a dizzying rotation.

As she climbed the stairs behind Mr. Sakamaki, Miyu felt a thrill at the thought that maybe it was finally her turn to become the epicenter. The nucleus. The eye of the social storm. Of course, she wasn’t cruel – she didn’t want unrequited love, she told herself – she just wanted a lot of friends who happened to be boys and might want something more, and to be able to take her pick for once instead of hoping there’d be someone left after the other girls had exercised their mysterious womanly charms. If there were no patients but those six, it meant she had no competition for their attention. Maybe they would welcome her as their queen.

She did have her misgivings, as Mr. Sakamaki had said a lot of derogatory things about the patients – “obsessive,” “good-for-nothing,” “violent” – but if given the chance, he’d probably describe _her_ in an unflattering light to a third party as well. Maybe it was all exaggeration. Her impressions of them had probably already been too heavily colored by Mr. Sakamaki’s commentary. She should judge them on their own merits once she met them, she decided, not rely on secondhand information from the most self-righteous snob she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Mr. Sakamaki had stopped walking and turned to face her. They had reached the top of the stairs.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” (How many times had she apologized today?) “I didn’t quite hear. Could you please say that again?” She gave him a smile that turned out to be genuine. She couldn’t help but smile at the indulgent thought of her six would-be suitors. Her reward for putting up with Mr. Sakamaki for this long.

Mr. Sakamaki’s resulting smile immediately erased her own. “Would I please say _what _again?”

“Whatever it was that you just said...”

“I didn’t say anything,” Mr. Sakamaki said, his voice growing low and soft. Soft in the way that pouncing cats were soft. “I said nothing until I asked if you were listening. It was a test. You were not even aware whether I was talking or not?”

“Maybe I need my hearing checked,” she said, her smile tentatively returning.

“You had your hearing checked at the full physical. Prior to the interview. Do you suffer from memory lapses as well?”

To her horror, Miyu heard herself laugh. She didn’t know where it came from, and she stifled it immediately, but not before it had rung out all too clear. A look of disbelief passed over Mr. Sakamaki’s face. For a moment Miyu thought he would unleash a scolding that would bowl her over like a force of nature.

But he didn’t. He only nodded thoughtfully. “Maniacal laughter is a symptom of imbalance in the Heart meridian. I will need to adjust your herbal medicine prescription accordingly. Excess heat in the blood could have severe ramifications for the patients.” He spun on his heel and headed down the corridor.

Miyu followed him, unable to repress her smile. The dreary emptiness of the mansion had transformed into something heavy, expectant, ripe with anticipation – like the air on a train platform, or a telephone about to ring. Mr. Sakamaki’s intimidating form had shrunk down into a tiny caricature. He was nothing but a bit-part antagonist now, Miyu thought, or maybe even comic relief. A petty distraction compared to the six faces (well, five) she’d seen in the living room. Soon she would have friends here. And maybe a boyfriend. She’d be so busy, she wouldn’t even have time to think about Touma or Ichiro or what her parents were up to.

Everything would be all right after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Let me know your thoughts :)


	3. Proximity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place in a somewhat canon-divergent alternate universe, where vampires have superhuman abilities, but not supernatural. So they have enhanced strength, near immortality, healing saliva (ordinary human saliva already has healing components but I digress), a keen sense of smell, and physical regenerative abilities. But teleportation, flying, and mind control are not on the menu.
> 
> I also have a retroactive change (sorry!). The year is 2023, and Miyu started her job on Monday, May 22. (Instead of the original Saturday, May 23, 2020.) Don’t blame me, blame the East Asian zodiac, which will come into play soon. I did some Victorian fashion research to find which era best suited Beatrix’s dress pictured in Reiji’s childhood flashbacks, then assigned him and his brothers the years of birth that made the most sense according to the sexagenary cycle.
> 
> And Beatrix has very long hair. Just saying. Hi, Freud, thanks for joining us.

_The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything. – Friedrich Nietzsche_

On the second floor, Mr. Sakamaki led Miyu down a corridor that she was sure she’d seen before – though all the corridors looked so alike, it was hard to tell. They stopped in front of a door with a rather astonishing number of mismatched locks. Once Mr. Sakamaki had unlocked them all (Miyu counted seven), he gestured for her to enter. “The laboratory.”

The term “laboratory” conjured up Miyu’s previous mental image of a gleaming white facility, but this room looked more like a cross between a Victorian library and a mad scientist’s workshop. One side of the room was packed with bookshelves, comfortable armchairs, a fireplace, and a window seat with a prim arrangement of fat cushions. The other side was home to several long counters and workbenches, all covered with an array of sparkling glass beakers and test tubes. There was also what appeared to be an acupuncture table, half-hidden by a bamboo screen.

The two disparate halves of the room were somewhat reconciled by the presence of an enormous wooden desk in the middle of the room, its surface covered with both books and chemistry equipment. Mr. Sakamaki strode to the desk and sat down authoritatively behind it. Miyu immediately knew that she was seeing him in his natural habitat.

“This is my laboratory and study,” Mr. Sakamaki said, a hint of pride in his voice. “As you can see” – he gestured to the sunset visible through the thick-paned windows flanking the desk – “this is the west wing of the facility. You realize the significance of the west in Five Element theory, do you not?”

Miyu wished she had an answer ready so she could skip through whatever long-winded explanation he doubtless had in store. She’d had enough of Mr. Sakamaki for one day.

“The west,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “The cardinal direction associated with the element of Metal. Autumn. The pure color white. Letting go of waste, returning to the essence. The elimination work of the large intestine and the inspiring breaths of the lungs.”

He was looking at her as if he expected his words to evoke some recognition in her. It all sounded poetic, but Miyu was having difficulty following.

“_Discipline_,” Mr. Sakamaki continued, his eyes lighting up in a rather alarming fashion. “The release of negativity. That is what discipline is, is it not? The expulsion of imperfection, the stripping away of dead leaves. The cleansing power of grief. A return to industry and diligence. The meticulous and the orderly. Righteousness. Fluency. Determination.”

“That’s why this room is in the west wing?” Miyu asked, trying to look more cheerful than confused, and hoping he would respond with something she could make sense of. Preferably something brief.

“This is _my_ room,” Mr. Sakamaki said, clearly impatient. “I was born under the Metal element. It is common sense that I would reside on the western side of the building.”

So it was wuxing theory and the zodiac he was talking about. Miyu was unfamiliar with it, as her parents had dismissed it as superstition. She would need to look up some information so that Mr. Sakamaki wouldn’t deem her hopelessly ignorant.

But had he just said that he resided here?

“Of course, there was no way for you to guess at my constitutional affiliation with Metal, since you are not particularly observant,” he said. “You probably don’t even know which element governed the year _you_ were born. But I had expected that in the time that elapsed since your interview, you would have gained at least a basic understanding of the five elements and their significance in the traditional medicine regimen you will undergo as part of your employment here.”

Put a positive spin on it, Miyu thought. “I’d like to learn more.”

No, that might launch further explanation. She’d never get out of here. She hastily added, “Do you have any books-“

“Rest assured, I will see to it that your ignorance is rectified. I will assign you relevant reading material to make up for your unfortunate lack of initiative.” Mr. Sakamaki began to page through one of the books sitting on his desk. “Although I do wonder if I have any resources that would be… elementary enough for you.”

Miyu seethed silently and wondered when he would invite her to sit down. Standing awkwardly in front of his desk made her feel like a student being scolded by a teacher.

Mr. Sakamaki was still glancing through the book when he said matter-of-factly, “You should also be aware that I am in charge of planning and implementing your traditional medicine regimen and wellness checks. You will report to this location every morning at eight o’ clock for daily assessment and acupuncture.”

His words hung in the air until their meaning struck Miyu to her core. Desperate to clarify, as if her words could alter reality, she said, “So the traditional medicine practitioner will give me acupuncture here?”

“Yes,” Mr. Sakamaki said, finally looking up at her. “I will.”

Miyu slowly inhaled and exhaled. She had to stay calm. She couldn’t think about him sticking needles into her while she lay helpless on that table. She swallowed and said brightly, “Oh, I thought you were the patient advocate.”

“I am. I am also the resident traditional medicine practitioner.” She could tell that he was savoring this unwelcome surprise. “I look forward to your unquestioning cooperation as we work together to achieve the best possible results for our clients.”

He smiled. She tried to smile.

“As you can see,” he said, gesturing to the glass-front cabinets full of tableware (tableware?) along one wall, “this room contains many valuable and breakable items. You must refrain from touching anything without express permission.”

Miyu nodded numbly, her thoughts churning. She needed to visit his office every day? He was staying at the facility? He was an acupuncturist? It seemed absurd. He looked far too young to have completed medical school.

There had to be a way to avoid him. She had to get transferred to another doctor somehow…

But perhaps there were no other doctors. Maybe no nurses, either. The brief hope she had felt after learning about the six young patients was evaporating, replaced by a nightmarish sense of unreality that descended on her like fog. She was trapped in a mansion full of doors, and no matter which door she opened, it seemed that Mr. Sakamaki was lying in wait behind it.

“Please take a seat.”

Miyu sat down and found her voice. “So when I donate blood, does that happen here, too? Or somewhere else?” As if it was the location, not the person, that mattered to her.

“Blood draws will mainly take place here,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “However, some flexibility in location may be introduced following the end of your probation. It depends on what is most beneficial for the patients.”

Miyu tried not to imagine him holding a syringe, either within the confines of the laboratory or in a so-called flexible location.

“This book will be an appropriate introduction to traditional medicine,” Mr. Sakamaki said, holding up what appeared to be the thickest volume in sight. “It should give you a basic sense of the five elements: Water, Wood, Fire, Earth, and Metal.”

Miyu nodded.

“As well as the polarity of yin and yang, which you may have difficulty grasping considering your personal imbalances.”

It was strange to hear Mr. Sakamaki talk about mystical concepts like yin and yang. Maybe he was just attracted to systems and categories in general, and couldn’t resist even the most pseudoscientific constructions as long as they had some rules to offer him.

“Assuming your personal information is accurate, you were born under the Water element,” he continued. “Your personality test and physical traits confirm this as well. I should have known from the amount of fear you displayed at the interview. Water takes the shape of whatever vessel contains it. It yields to every protrusion. When weak, it is shapeless and formless. The ultimate yin.”

He made her sound spineless. “There must be some good things about Water, too,” Miyu said. It came out sounding a bit too defensive.

Mr. Sakamaki smiled inscrutably. “Yes, there are.” He motioned to her head. “Please unpin your hair.”

Miyu was immediately chagrined. In the hopes of making a good impression on the (possibly nonexistent?) young doctors, she had gone to the trouble of French braiding her hair into an intricate crown braid rather than her usual simple bun. She had hoped to sleep like a statue and make it last until tomorrow, when she might conveniently run into Shuu. Surely Mr. Sakamaki could see it was unreasonable to expect her to take all her hard work apart.

She hesitated, then covered her vexation with an air of innocent curiosity. “That might be tricky. Why…?”

Mr. Sakamaki let out a resigned sigh and proceeded to explain in a tone normally reserved for young children. “Water energy is associated with the kidney meridian, and hair reflects the vital kidney essence, or jing, and liver blood. Deficiency in either jing or blood would have serious consequences for you and the patients. Thus, the condition of your hair is a barometer of sorts. Analysis is a necessary first step to establish a baseline reference before you commence blood donation.”

Miyu pretended to acknowledge him but was not ready to give up. “I’ve always had thick hair. It makes sense now, if I’m governed by the Water element.” She tried to think of a way to hint at her point. “It’s so thick, it took a million pins to put it up like this…”

A look of realization dawned on Mr. Sakamaki’s face. “Ah… You’re saying it would be difficult for you to unpin it at the moment?”

Miyu reveled in her victory. “Yes, that’s right. I’m sure you understand.”

Mr. Sakamaki was nodding, his face a picture of benevolent understanding. “How thoughtless of me.” He got up from his chair and started making his way around the desk. “Especially considering you don’t even have a mirror at your disposal.” He was standing next to her now – towering over her, really – and she started to turn in her chair to face him when he put a firm hand on her shoulder and stepped behind her.

Miyu’s heart jumped uncomfortably. She made another attempt to turn around but his gloved fingers tightened on her shoulder, and on the other side of her head, she felt the delicate sensation of a single hairpin sliding out of her braid.

“Of course I should have known that you would require assistance,” Mr. Sakamaki said, his voice growing more condescending with every word. He reached over her shoulder to set the hairpin down on the desk with a gentle clink. “I suppose you didn’t even put your hair up by yourself.”

Miyu wanted to move or say something, but she could find no opening in his steady stream of words. “A professional updo is a bit over the top for one’s first day of work. This kind of behavior will lead people to believe that you’re all show and no substance.”

His fingers found their way into the hair at her nape, where he was sliding out another hairpin. The edge dragged against her scalp, and Miyu felt a tense shudder run up her body. It was ridiculous that she couldn’t muster up the courage to tell him to stop. What was wrong with her? Why was she just sitting there?

She quickly reached back to stop him from removing another pin, twisting in her seat as much as she could. “It’s all right,” she said with a frantic smile. “I actually did put my hair up myself. I can unpin – oh!”

She shrieked as Mr. Sakamaki tipped the chair backwards onto two legs, throwing her off balance and nearly sending her tumbling.

“It is not polite to request assistance and then reject it once said assistance is underway,” Mr. Sakamaki said behind her. His fingers were digging hard into her arm, and she realized that his grip was the only reason she was still in the chair and not sprawled out on the floor. “It is very wishy-washy to keep changing your mind like that. Please keep your hands in your lap instead of getting in the way.”

Miyu didn’t intend to put her hands in her lap, or to sit there a moment longer. But before she could shift her weight forward, Mr. Sakamaki righted the chair (she almost fell off again) and pushed it forward into the desk until she hardly had room to breathe.

The only way she could get up now, short of slouching down and slithering under the desk, was to push the chair backwards. Her scrambling feet found the floor and pushed hard, but the chair was unmoving. He must have been bracing it from behind.

“Please compose yourself.” Mr. Sakamaki’s voice was disconcertingly low now, and his hand was back in her hair, fishing out another pin. “I suppose I startled you. You seem rather easily startled. It may be futile to attempt to cultivate poise and tranquility in such a flighty individual, but as it is my duty…”

His voice trailed off as he took off his glove and laid it on the desk next to the pins.

With his hand no longer on her shoulder, Miyu was tempted to leap up and bolt. But she gripped the edges of the chair and forced herself to sit perfectly still.

She fixed her eyes on the desk and tried to ignore his fingers in her hair. Was this some kind of twisted payback for her initial refusal of his request? Was it a warning to do as he said, or else he’d do it for her?

He would stop if she seriously asked him to, she told herself. She was just avoiding potential awkwardness. She was letting him do it. She was still in control.

In almost no time, Mr. Sakamaki had put the eighth and final pin on the desk – Miyu was grudgingly impressed that he had located them all so quickly – and he slowly uncoiled her braids from her head. They thumped lightly against her back as they fell.

He started unraveling the braids from the ends and gradually worked his way up, dragging his fingers over her back as he separated the strands. Miyu clenched and unclenched the edges of the chair, trying to think of something casual and lighthearted to say. Something that would show him she was taking it all in stride.

“Your hair is very long,” he said. She couldn’t quite detect what was in his voice – it sounded almost like admiration, so he must be mocking her, and she waited for the inevitable scathing criticism to follow. He continued, “It must have taken painstaking care to keep it in such good condition.”

Miyu remembered how Touma had made fun of her weekly deep-conditioning routine and said blithely, not meaning it, “I’ll probably cut it soon. It’s too much trouble.”

Mr. Sakamaki’s hands paused in her hair, then continued a bit more forcefully than before. “You will do no such thing. It would be a terrible waste.”

Miyu was surprised by the vehemence in his voice.

He said nothing for a moment before he added abruptly, “I already told you that your hair indicated the condition of your jing and blood. Cutting it would be a terrible waste of an excellent barometer. Throwing away information, akin to burning a book.”

Miyu felt inexplicably bothered by this addendum and retorted (cheerfully), “It’s not like I’m planning to shave my head.”

“You will not cut it,” Mr. Sakamaki repeated. “I will not allow it.”

Pushy as always, Miyu thought.

Mr. Sakamaki had separated her braids up to the nape of her neck and was gently tugging apart the French braid on one side of her head. A memory of her and Touma rose unbidden to the surface of Miyu’s mind – they had taken a walk in the park and sat down on a bench, and then she had lain down beside him and put her head in his lap. He had stroked her hair. That was what it felt like now, the same softly electric sensation. She was torn between wanting to feel it and wanting to escape; it wasn’t Touma, after all, it was Mr. Sakamaki. And he certainly wasn’t doing it for her enjoyment.

But he also seemed to be taking his time. She wasn’t sure if it was physically possible for him to do it any slower.

“Have you ever dyed your hair?” he asked, finishing the left side and moving on to the right. 

“No.”

“Good. You should not. It would ruin it.”

“It would grow back the original color,” she said, feeling contrary and instantly regretting saying anything.

“Dye can weaken the roots and damage the scalp. Such changes can have an irreversible impact on hair quality.”

His hands stilled. She realized that he had completely let her hair down now. She felt as if she had been stripped of something (her dignity?) and laid bare to him. His fingers lightly ran down the length of her hair to where it ended at her elbows, and she wanted to curl up into herself and roll under the desk in an armored little ball like a pillbug or an armadillo.

Of course no such transformation occurred, and as Mr. Sakamaki dragged his hand through her hair again – she got goosebumps – she realized he was gathering loose hairs to place on a white sheet of paper on the desk.

“I will conduct an analysis of the sample later,” he said.

Miyu felt a surge of relief at his words. This harrowing ordeal must be almost over. “What will you analyze?”

“Tensile strength, porosity, mineral content, and other factors.”

His fingers trailed aimlessly through her hair one last time before he unceremoniously withdrew his hand. “You may put your hair back up now.”

Miyu hoped that his oppressive presence would finally move out from behind her, but he continued to hover. At least he wasn’t touching her anymore. She reached out to reclaim her precious hairpins, grabbed her hair, and began to twist it into a simple bun.

“No,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “You should put it up in the braids like before.”

Something withered inside her. She had always hated trying to do her hair with somebody watching, and she couldn’t bear to feel his eyes on her much longer. “That’ll take a really long time-“

“You claimed to have arranged your hair yourself,” Mr. Sakamaki said, with a smug undertone. He emerged from behind her as if to gloat in his victory. “But it seems you cannot replicate it for an audience. Shouldn’t you have been honest from the beginning? Trying so hard to impress seems to be a deep-seated flaw of yours.”

“I had a mirror when I did it,” Miyu said peevishly.

Mr. Sakamaki opened a gilded box sitting on the desk and pulled out a round mirror with an octagonal metal frame. “It’s rather small,” he said, “as it’s only for checking one’s tongue condition, but I’m sure it will do.” He returned to his own side of the desk and sat down, holding up the mirror for her benefit. “Please proceed.”

He must have thought he was calling her bluff, and Miyu’s irritation was tempered with a tiny flare of triumph at proving him wrong. She divided her hair and began pulling sections from the top of her head taut into the first French braid.

She realized she had never done her hair sitting down before. Her cramped position made it awkward. She pushed her chair further out from the desk, taking a wonderfully deep breath, and tried to concentrate on her reflection in the mirror rather than Mr. Sakamaki’s face directly behind it.

His face was out of focus, but she could feel his eyes following her every move. The unsettling intimacy of him touching her hair was starting to sink in, and she wasn’t sure how to face him now. Should she just act like it had never happened?

“Why do you intend to cut your hair?” he asked suddenly.

Miyu was both dismayed by the distraction and relieved that the tense silence was broken. “It’s a lot of trouble,” she replied mindlessly, since that was what she had said before, and it was what people always seemed to say.

“You grew it out all these years and only just realized that? You must be a bit slow on the uptake if that’s the case.”

How could he twist everything she said into an insult? She decided to try a diplomatic tack. Still cheerful, but less of a pushover. “I suppose I never thought about it much until I got busier. And I’m older now, so I need to look more mature-“

He laughed. “Older? You’re 21. You’re hardly more than a child. And the appearance of maturity will cause problems when others are made aware of how immature you truly are.”

You don’t look much older yourself, Miyu thought. She was very tempted to discard the diplomacy, but soldiered on. “I ought to at least make an effort-“

“On your appearance,” he finished for her. “Because that’s where you put in the most effort, isn’t it? Never mind actually becoming mature, or actually listening to what people say. You’ll settle for _looking_ mature and _pretending_ to listen.”

There was a hostile edge to his voice.

“Never mind actually giving an honest opinion of lemon juice. You’ll settle for whatever you think your employer wants to hear.”

Was he really bringing up the lemon juice again? Had such a small incident grown into some sort of Shakespearean grudge?

“Never mind actually obeying facility guidelines about contraband items,” he continued, his tone openly threatening now. “It’s enough to pretend to comply.”

Miyu froze, and her hands shook slightly as she finished pinning her first braid into place. How did he know? They had been together from the moment she’d arrived. He couldn’t have gone through her things.

“You sorely underestimate my eyesight if you think I cannot tell you are wearing makeup.”

She stared at her face in the mirror. Her makeup was very subtle. Touma had never noticed.

“Do you think the rules exist for no reason?” he asked coldly. “Your skin is a window into your overall health. Dark circles, dry skin, acne – all of them could indicate serious underlying imbalances, and you would cover them up with face paint. How am I to achieve accurate diagnosis when you are so dishonest?”

“I didn’t know that was why-“

“To flout rules without even knowing why they exist is the height of foolishness.”

Miyu silenced the traitorous part of her mind that hinted he might have a point. She started on her next braid, wishing there was a button she could press to either rewind her life, mute Mr. Sakamaki, or pause time while she left the room. Perhaps all three.

“I am giving you a warning,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “I clearly told you at the interview that possession of contraband items would result in disciplinary measures. I would be justified in disciplining you for your first offense, but I understand that your head may have been… muddled, due to your unfortunate preoccupation with presenting a certain façade.”

Miyu watched her face grow red in the mirror. She forced herself to keep steadily braiding. She didn’t let her gaze wander outside the mirror’s edge for fear of meeting Mr. Sakamaki’s eyes.

“Next time I will not issue a warning. I will carry out appropriate discipline. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” Miyu said, her throat tight.

“Good.” He suddenly lowered the mirror, which unfortunately resulted in Miyu looking directly at him. She saw him smile before she managed to avert her eyes. “Please don’t make such a fearful expression. If you comply with the rules, you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“Right.” She tried to smile as a show of cooperation, but it was probably more of a grimace. She finished the second braid in silence and pinned it up without the benefit of the mirror.

“So you put your hair up by yourself after all,” Mr. Sakamaki concluded. “Why did you insist that I help you unpin it when you could do it on your own?”

Miyu opened her mouth to protest this mischaracterization, but Mr. Sakamaki was unstoppable. “Are you _that_ kind of woman? The sort who plays at incompetence to gain a man’s attention?”

She was mortified by the implication that she would ever try to gain his attention.

“You are incompetent in enough areas already. It’s quite unnecessary to feign ineptitude with regard to the few areas where you show proficiency. Nietzsche said that stupidity in a woman is unfeminine. Please take his saying to heart.”

Oh, of course Mr. Sakamaki would quote Nietzsche, Miyu thought. He probably aspired to become Nietzsche’s perfectly self-disciplined ubermensch or something.

Though perhaps she could use this to butter him up. “You like Nietzsche?”

“I hold him in high esteem,” Mr. Sakamaki replied, “although I have recently begun to find Kant’s moral philosophy compelling in its own way.”

Miyu wondered if she should ask more about Nietzsche or segue into the topic of Kant, but Mr. Sakamaki was leisurely pulling his glove back on as he consulted a fragile-looking clock sitting on the desk.

“It seems there is insufficient time this evening for you to fill out the introductory questionnaire on your physical condition. You will need to complete it at our eight o’ clock session tomorrow morning.” He stood up. “It is quite late. You should organize your things and get some rest. I will escort you back to your room.”

It was a swift but welcome transition. Miyu rose quickly, eager to escape. “That’s all right. I can find my way back.” Perhaps finding her own way would grant her the status of a non-stupid woman whom Nietzsche, and by extension Mr. Sakamaki, would approve of.

But he insisted on escorting her. He walked her back through the winding corridors, past the dark windows. She was uncomfortably aware of his proximity the whole time. By the time they reached her door, however, she was relieved to have his company, because she would have taken at least one or two wrong turns had she been alone. Though she would never admit it.

He opened the door and turned on the light for her, but did not step inside. “Breakfast is at seven o’ clock tomorrow morning. Please be punctual. Lock your door. Lights out is in fifty-three minutes. Do not keep your light on longer than permitted. Close your blackout curtains to ensure a restful night’s sleep. Good night.”

“Good night,” Miyu said.

She closed the door and locked it, placing the heavy book he had lent her on the nightstand. The metallic smell in the room was stronger than she remembered. She suddenly felt too tired to unpack properly, and instead sprawled out on the vast bed, looking at the cracks in the ceiling that showed through the gossamer fabric of the bed canopy.

There was a faint water stain that rippled outwards like rose petals. Her thoughts wandered back to the dark figure with white hair crouching behind the rose bush.

She heard a loud knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

No answer. Miyu hurried to the door and found it had no peephole and no chain. “Who is it?”

There was no reply, just a few more purposeful knocks in rapid succession.

Miyu hesitated and, against her better judgment, opened it.

It was Mr. Sakamaki, arms crossed. He looked disdainful. Miyu cursed herself for ignoring her gut.

“That was a test, and you failed abysmally.” He glanced at the doorknob. “What good is a lock if you open your door for anyone who comes knocking, without confirming their identity?”

“I thought it might be…” She seized upon an excuse. “Housekeeping.”

“The guidelines clearly state that you are responsible for cleaning your own room. Did you even read them?”

“Or it could have been another staff member,” Miyu said, knowing she couldn’t win but entertaining an urge to go down fighting.

Mr. Sakamaki held up a finger as if to shush her. “Enough excuses. You will lock your door at night. You are not to open this door for anyone but me. And if I come, you will open the door immediately. Do you understand, or must I explain further?”

Miyu would have appreciated further explanation – were there axe-murderers wandering the halls? Was he afraid a patient would drop by? Did the patients even know which room was hers? – but his question seemed rhetorical, and she didn’t want to provoke him. “I understand.”

“Very well.” He turned to go. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Miyu was tempted to flop back down on the bed, but the mention of lights out in fifty-three minutes drove her into the ensuite bathroom to shower. She removed her makeup (still in disbelief that Mr. Sakamaki had noticed it) and undid her braids quickly and roughly, trying to block out the memory of his slow, deliberate fingers in her hair.

Soap, shampoo, and conditioner were lined up in a neat row on the counter. But she was dismayed to find that they all gave off the same bizarre scent that hung over the room. She settled for a water-only shower and made a mental note to find the nearest convenience store tomorrow, so she could smuggle in something that smelled less like a chemistry experiment gone wrong. She needed to smell like a normal human being in case she ran into any of the patients.

Digging pajamas out of her suitcase and migrating to the comfort of the bed, Miyu pulled out her cell phone only to find there was no reception. For a few panicky moments she wondered if the facility was too remote for her to get a signal, but it wasn’t that far from the city. It must be an issue caused by old lead pipes in the walls, she decided. Tomorrow morning she would try using her phone in the dining area.

In the meantime, she would at least check her email. But she discovered that her phone only displayed one wi-fi network: Sakamaki EXT. It was password protected. And why was it named that? Was Mr. Sakamaki the network manager? As if he’d have time for that between his roles of patient advocate, traditional medicine practitioner, Nietzsche enthusiast, and general nuisance.

Maybe this was his office (lab? library?) network, and it happened to be the only one in range of her room. But his room wasn’t particularly close to hers.

A small hiss made Miyu jump. She looked up and saw what appeared to be an air freshener, mounted just beneath the crown molding, where the wall met the ceiling. It had just released a little cloud of noxious vapor. So this was the origin of that metallic smell.

“Got you,” she said to it aloud. The sound of her own voice was comforting. She felt less alone. She watched the little cloud dissipate and glanced at the quaint alarm clock on the bedstand. Assuming it was accurate, she had thirteen minutes until lights out.

The renewed smell was overpowering, and she climbed out of bed and went to the antique writing desk that sat under the window. She pulled the rickety wooden swivel chair out from under it and half-carried, half-dragged it across the room (it was heavier than it looked) until she was directly under the offending item. A bit of precarious teetering, and she had ascended to the level of the air freshener and dislodged it, setting it on top of the wardrobe.

“There you go,” Miyu said. “Rest in peace.”

There was no dust on top of the wardrobe, and as she climbed down, she wondered if the responsibility of cleaning her room included hard-to-reach spots like this. She vaguely recalled the guidelines mentioning regular room inspections. Was Mr. Sakamaki in charge of that, too? She pictured him running a white-gloved finger across the top of the wardrobe and turning to her with a dangerous glint in his eye. “You’ve failed your inspection abysmally. Are you aware that this calls for disciplinary action?”

Ugh, she needed to think about something else. She took out her phone again and put in earphones. The low opening tones of “Also sprach Zarathustra” began to reverberate in her head, the almost inaudible rumble transforming into a victorious brass fanfare that made her heart soar.

Nine minutes until lights out.

The brass fanfare gave way to a lyrical string melody. Miyu reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. The room went black. She waited for her eyes to adjust so she could see shapes in the room, and perhaps some light filtering in under the door or around the curtains. But the blackness was perfect and opaque like a wall in front of her eyes. It made no difference whether she closed her eyes or opened them.

The melody segued into a haunting chromatic motif. Miyu stared into the darkness – it was intriguing that this degree of darkness was actually possible – and let her thoughts ebb and flow with the music. After a while the brass fanfare returned in a swell of triumph. She imagined returning home after the six months were up – no, a year and six months, after she’d finished university and landed an enviable job.

“You work _where_?” her mother said. She raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to our brilliant daughter!”

“It’s no surprise,” her father said. “She takes after me. Ambition, brains, the whole package.” He was sitting at the kitchen table with them, looking at Miyu instead of his newspaper.

“I want to be just like you,” Ichiro said. “And thank you for the pocket money.”

“And how did you snag such a handsome boyfriend?” her mother pressed. “When can we meet him?”

“That diamond ring is huge,” Ichiro said. “He must be so rich.”

Her mother leaned in closer. “I’m sorry I was always so hard on you,” she said. “I just didn’t understand. You can forgive me, can’t you?”

“I was so blind,” her father said. His face was wracked with regret. “Can you find it in your heart to…?”

Miyu graciously forgave them. She was a beatific saint. The kitchen was full of light and it kept growing brighter. Everyone was smiling. Her thoughts multiplied and fragmented and dissolved into a kaleidoscope of dreams.

The kaleidoscope shattered to the sound of knocking. Miyu opened her eyes and saw nothing. For a disorienting moment she felt suspended in space.

Then she heard it again. The knocking this time was a dull thudding, not the short, sharp raps of Mr. Sakamaki’s earlier visit.

Miyu lay perfectly still. “Who is it?”

No answer. Miyu sat up, turned on the lamp, and groaned when she saw the time – it was a bit past midnight. If this was another one of Mr. Sakamaki’s obnoxious tests…

She pulled out her earphones and shuffled to the door. “Who is it?”

More knocking.

“Mr. Sakamaki, is that you?”

There was a pause and what sounded like a short exhale of laughter (it was too muffled to really tell), followed by a grunted “Yes.”

Something was off. Had he been drinking? She wouldn’t be surprised if he had a vice like that – a release valve, since he was wound so tight all the time.

“What do you need?”

“Open the door.”

That didn’t sound like him at all, but maybe it was just the shock of hearing him speak so informally for the first time. He seemed to be mumbling. And she couldn’t underestimate the effect of alcohol.

“Just a moment.” She dug through her suitcase until she located her bathrobe and threw it on over her pajamas, tying it tighter than necessary.

More impatient thudding on the door. Miyu wondered if it would be wiser not to open it, and endure the sober Mr. Sakamaki’s wrath in the morning. Then again, he probably had a key. And after how he’d reacted when she’d hesitated to unpin her hair, she didn’t want to risk disobedience.

She unlocked the door and began to turn the knob despite her misgivings.

It turned by itself in her hand, and she had barely moved out of the way before the door swung open and a stranger lunged out of the dark hallway and into the room. He slammed the door shut so hard that the wall shook. The lock clicked like an afterthought amidst the reverberation.

He had white hair. It was Subaru. He stood like a black paper cutout of some lithe predator in the faint lamplight, like he wasn’t real. Maybe she was still dreaming.

“Tch. What an idiot.”

Miyu was glued to the wall next to the door. She stood so still that she was hardly breathing. Subaru thankfully didn’t come any closer, but even in the dim light she could tell that he looked furious. His fists were clenched at his sides.

“I can’t believe you’re this dumb,” he hissed.

Miyu felt a detached kind of terror. She had a vague notion that this was somehow a test. “I thought you were Mr. Sakamaki,” she half-whispered.

“I am.”

“Aren’t you… Subaru?”

“Yeah. Subaru Sakamaki.” He scoffed and stepped towards her. “Which Sakamaki were you expecting, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger, but I didn’t want to end the chapter with Miyu just falling asleep. :D Let me know your thoughts!


	4. Intrusion

_To predict the behavior of ordinary people in advance, you only have to assume that they will always try to escape a disagreeable situation with the smallest possible expenditure of intelligence. – Friedrich Nietzsche_

Miyu scrambled to recall the details of Exhibit F, Subaru. She remembered that he was the youngest patient, but was he the one prone to hysterical fits of crying? Or was he the ladies’ man? All of the patients were blurring together into an incoherent mass in her mind.

“Oi! I asked you a question. Who’d you think I was?”

“I didn’t know there were two of you,” Miyu said cautiously.

Subaru took another step towards her. “Two of us?”

“Two people named Sakamaki,” Miyu said, backing up along the wall. “It’s not a very common surname, is it? It’s funny that you’re both-" Her leg hit the nightstand. “That you’re both here.”

“Both?” A brief look of confusion passed over Subaru’s face before it morphed into scorn. “You thought I was that stick-in-the-mud?” He laughed. “How dumb are you, anyway?”

Very dumb, Miyu thought. Dumb enough to open the door.

“He’s taking a nap. Are you disappointed?” Another step towards her.

There was nowhere for her to go, unless she could either rush past him or somehow scale the wall behind her.

“I have a boyfriend,” Miyu said abruptly. It was a lie but it had worked before, when a tipsy upperclassman had tried to get inside her tent on a university camping trip.

Subaru kept coming. “Yeah? What’s your point?”

Maybe it was a bad idea to bring it up. “So you shouldn’t… I mean…”

“What the heck are you talking about? You just opened the door for a guy in the middle of the night. Are you some kind of tease?”

“No! You told me to open it, so I-"

“Oh, so you’ll do whatever you’re told?” he scoffed. “Reiji must love that.”

Miyu started to say that she hadn’t met Reiji yet, but Subaru was still advancing on her, and her words stuck in her throat.

“You can’t even defend yourself,” he said, looking her up and down. “You need to get smarter if you’re going to keep this job.”

Miyu thought of her pepper spray and realized she hadn’t unpacked it yet. It was on the other side of the room in her suitcase. It might as well have been miles away.

“My boyfriend wouldn’t like it if another guy was in my room,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “You really should leave.”

“Yeah? You shouldn’t have opened the door in the first place.” He was so close to her now.

She didn’t know why she was still being polite. “Please leave. I mean it.”

Subaru slammed his hand against the wall, blocking any hope of escape. “Don’t piss me off. I’m already holding back.”

Miyu felt as though she was watching herself from above. In this situation, of course she should scream. But she inexplicably couldn’t.

“You’re scared? This is what happens when you open up for just anyone. Don’t let it happen again, huh?”

Miyu briefly thought of scrambling over the bed to get away, but she doubted she would be fast enough. It was strange how clear her thoughts were, as if she was seeing it all happen to someone else.

“Seriously,” Subaru said, “you’re lucky the other guys are gone tonight. You really are clueless, aren’t you?” He suddenly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, they were glassy.

“Where’s the spray?”

Miyu saw his mouth moving and heard the words, but she could no sooner understand them than she could a foreign language.

“The spray,” he growled. “Now you can’t even talk?”

She tried to will herself to say something, but only a gasp came out.

“Screw it.” He turned and jutted out a finger in the general direction of the ceiling. “Where’s the thing?”

Miyu somehow found her voice. “The… thing?”

“The dispenser thing. Where’d you put it? It’s supposed to be on the wall.”

She realized faintly that he must be talking about the air freshener, although it seemed ludicrous. “It’s up there,” she said, pointing. Her finger was trembling. “On top of the wardrobe.”

Subaru reached up and retrieved it easily without needing to stand on the chair. He shook it rather violently, and it rattled. “Did you break it?”

With a reassuring amount of distance between them now, Miyu’s ability to speak coherently was returning. “I don’t think so. I just… I took it down because it was so smelly-“

“You’re the smelly one.” Subaru slammed the device back into place so hard that Miyu was certain it would be broken now.

“Don’t turn it off,” he said. “Don’t take it down. Just don’t mess with it.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t open the door for just anyone like a moron.”

“When you knocked, I asked if-“

“Seriously, shut up and let me talk!”

Subaru punctuated his last word with a fist smashed into the wall. Miyu stared at the crater-like indentation left behind. She realized she had stopped breathing.

“Okay,” she said, in what she hoped was a placating voice. “Okay.” She tried to breathe. “Okay.”

“Stop saying that. It’s annoying.” Subaru thrust his hands into his pockets and turned away from her, kicking the leg of the bed. He suddenly turned back.

“Just stay out of trouble, will you? The other guys don’t know you’re here yet. Don’t go inviting them into your room.”

“You mean the other patients?”

Subaru laughed darkly. “Yeah, ‘patients’ is one way to put it.” He kicked the bed again. “Stay away from them. None of them need your blood as much as me. They might break the _rules_.”

Perhaps she was only imagining it, but his voice seemed to have gone from rough to pleading. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes? He stepped back towards her.

“Look at me,” he said. “You’re dumb, but I have to make you understand. Don’t let them mess with you. Your blood has to be perfect. You can’t let them ruin it.”

Miyu didn’t understand at all. “Ruin it?”

“Reiji said too much stress would ruin your blood. So stay away from them.”

“I haven’t met any of them-" Miyu began, but Subaru cut her off.

“Shut up. Just do as I say.” He went to the door. “Don’t be so careless. Go to sleep.”

To Miyu’s amazement, he simply left. He didn’t even slam the door quite as hard as she expected.

She stood in the same place for a long time after the sound of his footsteps in the corridor had faded away. She was terribly hot, but her hands felt like ice. She took off her bathrobe to find that her pajamas were damp with sweat. She changed into another set.

Miyu checked the lock on the door multiple times before crawling back into bed. She left the lamp on and watched the minutes slowly tick by on the face of the alarm clock as she replayed what had just transpired, trying to make sense of it. She would be rational about this, she told herself. She would analyze the situation and come up with the proper course of action. There was no reason to be afraid. Subaru might have acted intimidating, but he hadn’t even touched her.

She reviewed the scene in her head over and over. He had come in and claimed that his surname was Sakamaki (was it true?). He was apparently enraged for two reasons: because she had opened the door for him, and because she had… unplugged the air freshener? (Dispenser, she corrected herself. There was nothing freshening about it.) How did he know that she’d unplugged it?

And what about the last bit? Saying he needed her blood more than the others, and telling her to stay away from them? (Was he the narcissistic one?) True, Mr. Sakamaki had warned her about meeting the patients, but he had also said the fraternization ban might be lifted later on. She doubted he would have said that if the patients posed any actual danger to her. And his assurance that she was unlikely to meet Subaru had just been proven false.

Shouldn’t she tell Mr. Sakamaki? After all, he had told her to report to him if she encountered Subaru.

But if Subaru had gotten that angry over the dispenser, Mr. Sakamaki would probably be apoplectic. And she shuddered to think of how he would react to her opening the door for Subaru, after he had emphasized that she was to open it for him alone.

She could just be honest with him. “Mr. Sakamaki, I thought the violent delinquent banging on my door at midnight was actually you.” That would doubtless go over very well. “Please don’t be offended. I was just under the impression that you were extremely drunk.”

That would call for further explanation. “Well, I assumed that anyone as uptight as you would need to let loose once in a while. Drinking alone seemed like something you’d do.”

No, she couldn’t tell him. She’d find a way to cover up the indentation in the wall, or come up with a story of how she’d made it herself. Mr. Sakamaki hadn’t set foot in her room yet – he probably thought it improper – so she had time to fabricate a convincing explanation.

The dispenser let out a little puff of metallic vapor. So it was still functional after all.

Miyu began to turn potential stories over and over in her head, exchanging rehearsed lines with an imaginary Mr. Sakamaki. She could say that she had bashed the lamp into the wall while trying to move it – it looked heavy enough to make a good-sized dent. Her body felt hollow after the rush of adrenaline had subsided. Hollow and light, as if her thoughts could echo and reverberate inside her.

But she couldn’t fall asleep. The alarm clock showed it was half past one when she finally gave up and climbed out of bed. She needed to take her mind off the whole thing until morning, or she would awaken to horrendous dark circles and eye bags without the panacea of makeup.

With no cell phone service or Internet, Miyu settled for cracking open the thick tome that Mr. Sakamaki had lent her – “Understanding the Deeper Essence of Traditional Medicine.” The table of contents featured a legion of unfamiliar Chinese characters, and for a daunting moment she considered counting sheep instead. Still, she would feel better about her first session with Mr. Sakamaki if she was armed with some basic knowledge. And the book would doubtless be boring enough to bring her the sweet relief of sleep.

She skipped over the endless introductions and commentaries and prologues and began to read the first chapter. The content was hard to decipher. It was something to the effect of all phenomena in the universe arising from the interaction of five elements, which were also described as phases, because apparently the only constant was that all things were in a state of change, and so on. But the book had a mysterious air of authority that extinguished Miyu’s doubts one by one. Everything followed a semblance of logic while maintaining a poetic kind of ambiguity. Her parents had always said horoscopes, feng shui, the zodiac and such were nonsense, but it would be immensely gratifying if her parents were wrong about something for once.

_Wood feeds Fire, Fire creates Earth, Earth brings forth Metal, Metal begets Water, Water nourishes Wood_

The generating sequence (or mother-child cycle) seemed worthy of memorization – it was the sort of cut-and-dried material that Mr. Sakamaki might ask her about. It all sounded very feminine and mother-earthy, although Miyu was a bit unclear on how Metal could beget Water. According to the text, Metal could trap Water falling from a source, and there was also mention of Water trickling through the Metal ores of the earth. Both examples seemed like a stretch, but Miyu decided to keep an open mind.

_Wood parts Earth, Earth dams up Water, Water extinguishes Fire, Fire melts Metal, Metal chops Wood_

The controlling, destructive sequence, or father-child cycle, sounded accurately masculine. Most men she knew liked to destroy things or at least disassemble them. Her father worked in mergers and acquisitions, Ichiro liked taking computers apart despite a consistent inability to put them back together, and Touma had broken her heart. Subaru had punched the wall (no, she wasn’t going to think about that). And Mr. Sakamaki seemed determined to pick her apart into tiny pieces.

Miyu suddenly recalled Mr. Sakamaki mentioning that their respective elements – his Metal, hers Water – were linked to their years of birth, and curiosity drove her to scour the index until she found what she was seeking: a chart of birth years listed with elements and animals.

Her 2002 birthday placed her in the category of Water Horse. It was probably the best thing someone could be, she thought as she scanned the glowing descriptions listed under “Strengths.” The book said she was intelligent and flexible, easily adapting to new situations. She could thrive even in crisis situations. She had a stubborn drive to achieve her desires. Her social acumen meant she was privy to other people’s secrets.

Yes, yes, and yes, Miyu thought. (Hadn’t she handled the Subaru crisis well, after all? She hadn’t even screamed.) She was clearly the manifestation of an ever-shifting stream of water, a horse running free, destined for triumph even amidst difficult circumstances.

The next section, “Weaknesses,” was only worth skimming. “Too concerned about own well-being and comfort… inattentive to others… finds excuses to become the center of attention… crippled by even minor failures… indecisive…” She didn’t read the rest. After all, there was no need to focus on the negative. She needed to maintain an upbeat attitude after such a jarring introduction to Subaru.

Miyu would have taken perverse pleasure in locating Mr. Sakamaki’s element and animal and reading his list of weaknesses, but she would need to learn his animal first. That wouldn’t be hard. He was probably eager to share that fact, like the rest of his knowledge.

She slumped down against the desk, laying her head on the open book, and let her thoughts wander back to Subaru’s intrusion. She needed to find a way to ask Mr. Sakamaki more about him without letting on that she’d met him. And the other patients as well. Mr. Sakamaki had been loath to answer her questions yesterday, so what approach should she use now? The thread of her thoughts began to float away from her, and she held onto it and followed it and her thoughts stretched out into something slack and ever-expanding.

Her professor was talking to her about the start of the new term, and she had forgotten something important. If only she could remember what it was! She was in real trouble now. He was angry. He was Mr. Sakamaki.

She opened her eyes.

It really was Mr. Sakamaki. He was standing next to her chair.

She sat up so quickly that it hurt. Her mind was blank. Don’t look guilty, she thought. You haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t look guilty. She was relieved to see that she hadn’t drooled on the book.

Why was he here? What time was it? The curtains were closed, so she couldn’t tell if it was light out or not.

Mr. Sakamaki was staring down at her, arms crossed, with an expression of cold evaluation. Finally he spoke. “I told you that breakfast was at seven o’ clock. It is now quarter past seven.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the alarm clock. It was true. Before she could start apologizing, Mr. Sakamaki continued. “I knocked on your door, and you did not answer. I was forced to enter your room without an invitation in order to assess your condition.”

“I’m sorry,” Miyu said. She had a disturbing hunch that he had knocked quietly on purpose. “I’m all right, I just-"

“And upon coming into your room,” Mr. Sakamaki said, speaking over her, “I was faced with indisputable evidence that Subaru was here last night.”

He indicated the indentation in the wall. Miyu swallowed. Apparently he was well aware of Subaru’s proclivities. It wasn’t worth it to mention the lamp.

“Were my instructions unclear?” Mr. Sakamaki asked, his voice softer now. She would rather he shouted and carried on instead. “What did I tell you about opening your door?”

Instead of answering the actual question, Miyu said quickly, “He said he was you. He said his name was Sakamaki. That’s why I opened it.”

Mr. Sakamaki looked skeptical.

“Is it true?” Miyu asked. “Is his surname Sakamaki, too?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just a coincidence? Or-”

“He is… a relation of mine.” Mr. Sakamaki cleared his throat. “But that is not the point. The point is, you disobeyed me and let him in-“

“I thought he was you!”

“And obviously provoked him into enough of a rage to damage the wall to this extent. The cost of repair will be deducted from your compensation package.”

“Subaru was the one who hit the wall, not me,” Miyu protested. It suddenly occurred to her that she shouldn’t paint him in too bad a light. Mr. Sakamaki would probably side with his relative before siding with her.

“There was no reason for him to get that angry,” she continued, as if she could forestall her inevitable interrogation.

“Is that so?” Mr. Sakamaki leaned closer, and Miyu shrank away from him. “And why did he get angry at all? What exactly was he doing in your room?”

Miyu wondered if it would be worse to tell him about the dispenser, or to say that she didn’t know. Subaru might tell Mr. Sakamaki the truth later, and then she’d be in even more trouble. So she settled for a significantly abbreviated version of the story, leaving out the part about thinking that Mr. Sakamaki was drunk, and thinking that Subaru was coming onto her, and lying about having a boyfriend.

She stared down at the desk for the duration of her tale, finally daring to look up at Mr. Sakamaki when she’d finished. He said nothing and only stared at her. The longer the silence stretched out, the more the dread rose up in Miyu’s stomach. She wanted to stand up, but he was standing nearly flush with the edge of the chair, and she was afraid he wouldn’t move out of the way.

“Are you upset?” she finally asked. It was a foolish question – of course he must be – but if she said nothing, perhaps the silence would go on for hours, and he would never stop looking at her.

“I am in shock,” he said. “I underestimated your stupidity, and to this extent.”

Miyu braced herself for the coming torrent of Mr. Sakamaki’s venom.

“You are truly unbelievable,” he murmured, looking at her with something akin to awe. “It was remiss of me not to include an intelligence test in your interview requirements. You risked your life climbing up onto that highly unstable antique chair in order to unplug a dispenser installed nearly at ceiling height.”

Miyu highly doubted that a fall from the chair would have killed her.

“Did you ignore the clause in the guidelines that forbids tampering with electronic devices installed on the premises? Or did you simply forget?” He made a show of glancing up at the ceiling. “Must I inspect the smoke detector? Did you attempt to disable that as well?”

It seemed pointless to say anything in response.

“You must have been quite frightened when Subaru came in,” he said, without an ounce of sympathy. “Yet you did not call for help. Why is that?”

“It wasn’t as if Subaru was threatening me,” she said uneasily, remembering her inability to scream. “He just wanted me to plug the dispenser back in. Wouldn’t it have been an overreaction to call for someone?” To call for _you_, she thought.

“Did he mention the other patients?”

“He said they don’t know I’m here yet. And that they don’t need my blood as much as he does. But I thought they all had the same disease.”

“It would be pointless to make the patients aware of your presence before the fraternization ban is lifted. And they do indeed all suffer from the same condition, but Subaru has a… particular interest in maintaining the quality of your blood at a certain level. It seems he has become meddlesome as a result.” Mr. Sakamaki pushed up his glasses. “Still, you can rest assured that he will not make improper advances toward you. His breach of propriety last night was justified, considering your colossal error.”

As expected, he was siding with Subaru over her.

“I’m sorry,” Miyu said, “but I don’t understand why unplugging the dispenser was such a mistake. I was meaning to ask you” – she dared to stand up, and he did move enough to accommodate her – “about how the vapor smells like the spray you gave me yesterday. Everything in the bathroom smells like that, too. What exactly is it? Is it like an antiseptic?”

Mr. Sakamaki paused before answering. “As you are aware – unless you’ve already forgotten, which would not surprise me – the six patients’ condition generates a cluster of unusual symptoms. One such symptom is a heightened sense of smell. Certain odors unnoticeable to the average human nose can become torturous, even overwhelming in their intensity. By unplugging the dispenser, you were in effect advertising your odor and presence.”

So that was why Subaru had called her smelly, Miyu thought. “But then wouldn’t the metallic smell bother them even more?”

“I suppose you are not well-versed in architectural acoustics.”

Miyu was never quite sure how to respond when he veered off in erratic directions like this. Her blank look was apparently his cue to continue.

“Sound wave interference occurs when the compressions of one wave align with the rarefactions of another, and the two subsequently cancel each other out. This creates so-called dead spots, in which one is unable to hear the sound in question. You might think of odors in a similar way. The prophylactic spray neutralizes the devastating odor of your person, thus preventing it from being registered by the olfactory receptors of the patients.”

She studiously ignored his use of the term “devastating.” “I didn’t know that sounds and smells were so alike.”

“It is merely a crude comparison that I made in order to aid your understanding. Sounds and smells are nothing alike. Sounds consist of pressure waves. Smells consist of volatile airborne molecules. I cannot believe that I need to explain this to you. The depth of your ignorance is beginning to disturb me.”

“So how is it that you know so much about acoustics?” Miyu asked, subtly leaning her weight against the comfortingly solid desk, hoping that she could spur him to talk about what he knew rather than what he thought she didn’t know.

“This much is common knowledge for anyone who attends cultural activities with the slightest degree of regularity,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “The opera. The ballet. The symphony. The theatre.” He added, “Perhaps you attended such a performance on a school field trip once as a child, though I suppose you wouldn’t remember.”

“I’ve actually been to lots of concerts,” Miyu said demurely, pleased to prove him wrong. “I enjoy classical music. I play the piano.”

“Hence the rabid interest in the music room that you expressed yesterday.” Mr. Sakamaki gave her a patronizing smile. “And yet you are not majoring in piano. Merely playing the piano is not worth mentioning. One ought to play it well, don’t you think?”

Miyu assumed this was a rhetorical question, but he seemed to be waiting for an answer. She provided one that seemed safe. “I think one should play to the best of one’s ability.”

“A reply typical of someone with mediocre skill. You should be aware that the piano in the music room is an authentic 1882 C. Bechstein concert grand piano imported from Berlin. You are not permitted to touch it unless I am satisfied that you will treat it properly.”

“Do I need to audition?” Miyu asked, realizing too late that it probably sounded sarcastic.

“I imagine that you will continue to harp on the matter until I clear time in my busy schedule.”

Was that actually a yes?

“Considering the trouble you’ve caused, this is not an appropriate time to discuss music room privileges,” Mr. Sakamaki said, leaving Miyu’s side and striding over to the damaged wall. He ran his gloved hand over the cracks and said without looking at her, “Did Subaru mention any of the patients specifically by name? Reiji, for instance?”

It was uncanny. How did he know? Or was he just concerned about the reputation of his favorite patient? “He told me that Reiji said stress would ruin my blood.”

“A gross oversimplification, but nonetheless correct. Stress causes buildup of tension in the body, which results in stagnation and poor blood circulation.” He continued to inspect the cracks. “And did Subaru have anything to say about _me_?”

Best not to disclose the title of stick-in-the-mud. “He said you were taking a nap.” Which was odd now that she thought about it, because most people would be sleeping at midnight, not napping. Perhaps Mr. Sakamaki was experimenting with a polyphasic sleep schedule to increase his productivity. She wished he would experiment with hibernation.

“I see.” Mr. Sakamaki turned and eyed her critically before adding, “You really ought to reapply the prophylactic spray. You haven’t used it at all since I first gave it to you, have you?”

“I thought I didn’t need to use it in my room,” Miyu began, but Mr. Sakamaki’s eyes narrowed, and a moment later she was dutifully digging the bottle out of her messenger bag.

“I’m curious about something,” she said between sprays. She tried not to cough. “Why is it that you don’t need to use the spray, too?”

He gave her a contemptuous look. “Do you not see that there are many differences between you and me?”

Thank goodness, Miyu thought, because she’d hate to be like him.

“For example, male and female sweat contains an entirely different concentration of sulfur.”

That wasn’t the sort of difference she had been thinking of, but she would welcome any and all differences, even at the chemical level.

“There are innumerable factors affecting an individual’s scent. Suffice to say, your scent poses an issue while mine does not.”

Miyu wondered if it had something to do with pheromones. Her memories of high school biology were spotty at best.

“At any rate,” Mr. Sakamaki said sharply, “I trust that you have learned your lesson through this regrettable incident?”

“I won’t unplug the dispenser,” Miyu replied, hating how much she sounded like a contrite child. “And I won’t open the door for anyone.”

“Anyone but myself.”

That exception is what caused this whole problem, Miyu thought, but she nodded just to humor him. She was never going to open her door at night again. Mr. Sakamaki could use his key if he had urgent business with her.

He made his way to the door. “Get dressed properly and come to breakfast. Your initial acupuncture session and blood draw was scheduled for eight o’ clock, but I will move it to eight-thirty in light of this unfortunate delay. And do not forget to keep the bottle of prophylactic spray on your person at all times.”

“Yes,” Miyu said, tempted to add an insincere “sir” but restraining herself. She was surprised that Mr. Sakamaki was leaving already. His calm restraint was filling her with foreboding rather than relief.

“And by the way,” he said, “it is unacceptable to wear earphones in bed. I am disappointed that you would display such sloppy habits. Listening to music is certain to reduce the quality of your sleep.”

Miyu saw her earphones lying in a tangled wad next to her pillow. She gathered them up and placed them on the nightstand in a caricature of cooperation.

“Also” – would he never run out of things to say? – “that alarm clock was generously provided to prevent disruptions in the planned schedule. Please make use of it in the future. I intentionally selected a model simple enough for you to operate, but if you find it too much of a challenge, I will take it upon myself to find an alternative.”

Miyu nodded.

“And do not think that I am letting your grievous lapse of judgment last night go unaddressed. I will inform you once I have decided on an appropriate form of discipline.”

With that final jab, Mr. Sakamaki saw fit to depart. Miyu thought that paying for the wall repair was punishment enough, but he would probably make her write “I will not unplug the dispenser” a hundred times. Knowing him, a thousand times.

She ate breakfast alone in the sun-filled dining area (it was an enormous spread, just like the day before) and pondered the revelation that Subaru was related to Mr. Sakamaki. Perhaps their penchant for insulting her intelligence was a genetic trait. Had Subaru been admitted to the facility on the basis of their personal connection? She couldn’t imagine Mr. Sakamaki turning a blind eye to Subaru’s unruly behavior, but perhaps he had a nepotistic streak. Insisting that only Miyu pay for the damage suggested that he regarded Subaru as someone special.

In a way, Mr. Sakamaki’s tolerance of Subaru could be a good omen. He might be the paradoxical type of person who hated his equals but loved a horrible little lapdog to death. He probably saw Subaru as beneath him and therefore not a threat. If Miyu could convince him to see her the same way, he might treat her more tolerably instead of trying to trip her up or test her somehow at every turn.

She had wormed her way into the good graces of a particularly terrifying university professor once – an icy, insecure woman who wore exclusively tweed and elevated the term “critical” to a higher plane. Miyu had come to her office hours at every opportunity and suffered through countless repetitive ramblings on the flaws inherent in modern research methodology. She was duly rewarded with a good grade when many of her classmates had flunked. The professor had even confided in her about a rather scandalous personal issue, and written her a glowing recommendation letter to use later on when she applied for jobs.

That was the trick to dealing with overbearing people, wasn’t it? To make them feel important? That was how clever advisors turned into the power behind the throne of a tyrant.

But Mr. Sakamaki had already accused Miyu of putting on a show. Had she not tried hard enough? Or had she been putting on the wrong kind of show?

And then, in a miserable little bolt of enlightenment, it hit her how stupid she had been. With such an abrasive personality, Mr. Sakamaki must be accustomed to people getting offended and pushing back at him. By yielding so much, ignoring his insults, enduring his unwelcome ministrations with only token resistance… had she broadcast the depth of her own insincerity? She wasn’t meek enough to pass as truly meek. He must know that she disliked him. And since she didn’t show it, he didn’t trust her.

Was that why he kept goading her? To force out her true feelings? She thought of the penetrating look he had given her at the end of the interview, and his hint of a smile when he had kissed her hand.

She stabbed a fish cake viciously with her chopsticks to dispel that mental image. If only there were some middle ground, she thought despairingly, in which she could demonstrate enough dislike to project the appearance of honesty, but not enough for him to know the full extent of her loathing. That magic sweet spot, like a skirt long enough to be modest but short enough to maintain interest. Ugh, what a tasteless comparison. Why was she even thinking along those lines?

Like the right balance of salty and sweet in a recipe, she thought as she placed a series of delectable simmered black soybeans into her mouth one by one. No, that sounded wrong, too, as if he was going to eat her.

Enough metaphors. She would view this through the lens of the working world – he was her employer, after all – and utilize a new type of defense: the professional defense. “Mr. Sakamaki, I beg your pardon?” “Mr. Sakamaki, please do not make such disparaging comments.” “Mr. Sakamaki, you are invading my personal space.”

He was clearly keen on good manners as a concept, even if he applied that concept inconsistently to himself. Perhaps a courteous but unwaveringly firm defense would be the one that finally worked. He would deem her suitably straightforward rather than sly, and lose interest in belittling her.

And she should get closer to Subaru. He had correctly labeled Mr. Sakamaki a stick-in-the-mud, which indicated he had a reasonable head on his shoulders. In the warm morning light, the shock of his visit was fading away like traces of a nasty dream. In hindsight, it hadn’t been so terrible – it was just her dramatic assumptions (doubtless fueled by too many thriller movies) that had made it so frightening.

If Subaru truly was being tormented by his sensitive nose, perhaps he had been justified in his anger. As an invalid, didn’t he deserve the benefit of the doubt? And he had seemed genuinely concerned about Miyu, even if his delivery of said concern was a bit lacking in finesse. If she could track him down, she could apologize to him for aggravating his condition. She might persuade him to further explain the cryptic warning he had given her about the other patients. And if (by some sorcery) Subaru was on reasonably good terms with Mr. Sakamaki, perhaps Miyu could make a positive impression on him that would raise her standing in Mr. Sakamaki’s eyes.

As she finished her meal, Miyu expected Mr. Sakamaki to appear and show her proper dishwashing procedures as promised, but even at quarter past eight, she was still alone in the dining area. So she washed the multitude of dishes herself, reapplied the prophylactic spray just in case, and marched upstairs to the laboratory. She had already been late for breakfast. She was not about to be late for their first official session. She silently prayed that her bluff of professionalism would work, or the next six months would be long indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out yesterday that I need to take a short trip to Thailand next week, which will throw a wrench into my planned Friday update schedule. Which is the lesser of two evils: a shorter than usual chapter on Nov. 29, or waiting to update until Dec. 6? :D I’m excited that Subaru is on the scene now, so I’m hoping for godlike speed and inspiration as I write the next chapter. Let me know your thoughts!


	5. Needles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December! There’s no better way to interrupt an update schedule than the whole family coming down with giardiasis (kind of like stomach flu only it never ends apparently). Hot tip: adhere to impeccable food safety standards like Reiji to avoid food-borne parasites!
> 
> Everything in my life has been conspiring to remind me of this story, which made it even more agonizing to be unable to update until now. I even broke a teacup the other day. I mean, seriously? And guys, it’s my birthday today! Plus it’s the full moon. It reached peak fullness at 12:12 am this morning… on the 12th day of the 12th month. If only this were Chapter 12. :D

_Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured? – Friedrich Nietzsche_

An ominous, rhythmic thudding echoed down the corridor as Miyu approached the laboratory. Finding the door ajar, she entered to see Mr. Sakamaki standing at the counter, using a mortar and pestle to pulverize some unknown material.

He looked up. “It is impolite to enter without knocking.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be able to hear over the… pounding,” Miyu said automatically, before remembering that she was going to be unapologetic and firm from now on.

“Presumptuous as always.” Mr. Sakamaki motioned across the room to the chair pulled up in front of his desk. “Please be seated and fill out the questionnaire.”

Miyu walked over to the desk, where a questionnaire and pen had been laid out in perfect alignment with the edge. She paused before taking a seat in that dreadful chair where she’d been trapped while he unpinned her hair. Not that he could pull a stunt like that today – she had strategically coiled all her hair into a low bun using a single sturdy hairstick. If he wanted another hair sample, she could pull out the stick and send it all cascading down instantly. No pins to remove, no braids to unbraid. No pretext that he could use to touch her.

She shut out every thought of last night – the pins sliding out, the desk pressing into her ribcage, Mr. Sakamaki’s voice behind her. Those things had happened to someone named Miyu, but she was someone else, “professional Miyu,” and there was no reason to let any of it perturb her. The morning sunlight would chase it all away.

The pounding continued from the other side of the room. It was rather disturbing just how hard he was pounding.

Miyu set about completing the multi-page questionnaire, which included questions on practically every bodily function and fluid – from sweat and menstruation to sleeping patterns and bowel movements. She had answered similar questions a couple weeks ago, during her preliminary checkup at a traditional medicine clinic prior to the job interview. But now that she knew it would be Mr. Sakamaki reviewing her answers, rather than some faceless medical professional, she resented the embarrassing level of detail. Every bit of information she revealed felt like a potential weapon that he might wield against her.

In the middle of a question about whether she tended to crave cold versus lukewarm versus hot water, the pounding stopped. Miyu furtively glanced over to see Mr. Sakamaki pouring a powdery substance from the mortar into a small glass beaker. Rather than his usual rigidity, he moved with an ease that suggested he was unaware of being watched. She felt oddly gratified by this and watched him lift the beaker to the light as if evaluating its contents. Even the almighty Mr. Sakamaki, it seemed, did not have eyes in the back of his head.

Miyu took her time filling out the questionnaire, but Mr. Sakamaki was still fiddling with beakers when she finally set down the pen. She wondered what a professional, no-nonsense person would do in this situation. Simply announce that she had finished the questionnaire? Wait silently for Mr. Sakamaki to wrap up whatever he was doing? Give a nonverbal hint by conspicuously pushing out the chair, or rustling around in her messenger bag, or standing up to peruse the bookshelves?

A professional, no-nonsense person wouldn’t think about what to do, Miyu concluded. They would just do what came naturally. She wished she had been born that way. An effortless storm of confidence instead of a cringing little self-conscious wad of anxiety.

Eventually settling upon the most conservative course of action – which was not to do or say anything at all – Miyu leaned back in the chair and scanned the titles of the books on the shelves as she waited. Every volume looked old and worn. The books on one particular shelf all appeared to be in German, and she could only read the names of the authors – Kant, Nietzsche (of course), Freud, Jung, Schopenhauer… The shelf below it was full of Korean texts, and below that, Chinese. Just how many languages did Mr. Sakamaki know?

Then again, it wouldn’t surprise her if he kept foreign-language texts on his shelves just for show. Maybe another shelf held Japanese versions of all these books. Or maybe he had replaced the covers, and the contents were different. They might be full of something completely unrelated, like recipe collections or manga. She smiled despite herself.

“Do you find my collection of first editions amusing?”

Miyu whipped her head around to find Mr. Sakamaki standing disconcertingly close. Be professional, she thought.

“Oh, I was actually thinking of something else.” She hastily picked up the questionnaire. “I finished this.”

He took it from her and read it, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly across each page. “I see that little has changed since your initial consultation. Although it seems you are having some digestive difficulties. Didn’t I warn you not to overeat?”

“Maybe I’m just not used to the food here yet.”

“Based on your symptoms, I suspect it is the quantity consumed, not the type, that poses an issue.”

It was hard to combat his snub when it was disguised as a medical opinion.

To Miyu’s dismay, instead of sitting down behind the desk (ensuring a vast swathe of solid oak between them), Mr. Sakamaki pulled up a chair next to her. “I will be taking your pulse prior to the onset of each acupuncture session,” he said. “Place your wrist on the cushion.”

She put her wrist on the small, square leather cushion on the desk. Mr. Sakamaki removed his glove, turned her palm upwards and checked her pulse in three places, closing his eyes as he did so.

“Your heart is beating so fast, it is making it difficult to analyze your pulse,” he said. “Please relax.”

“I’m trying to relax.”

“Yes, that is obvious. Trying is the opposite of relaxing. Stop trying.”

She tried not to try.

“Did you read the chapter on pulse indications in the book I lent you?”

Miyu was certain that pulse indications had been listed under one of the later chapters. “Not yet. I read the first two chapters-”

“Ah… your deplorably slow pace of reading had slipped my mind.” Mr. Sakamaki tried her pulse in the first location again. “Do you realize there are no fewer than twenty-nine pulse indications? No, of course not. You lacked the patience to read that far…” His voice grew low and dreamlike, as it had the previous evening when he had described the Metal element. “Each indication is characterized by subtle differences. The knife scraping bamboo, the silk thread floating on water, the pearls rolling in a dish. Floating. Surging. Taut. Rootless. Tympanic.”

Miyu wondered if the mansion was haunted, and Mr. Sakamaki was occasionally possessed by the spirit of a dead poet. These spontaneous outbreaks of eloquence were unnerving.

“That will do.” He released her wrist and wrote something down in a small black notebook. “Now please show me your tongue.”

She opened her mouth reluctantly, wishing she had brushed her teeth after breakfast instead of coming directly to the laboratory. He leaned in far too close, rather like a tactless dentist. He was near enough that his face filled the whole of her range of vision. Miyu considered shutting her eyes but had a strong feeling that she ought not make herself so vulnerable.

With nowhere else to look, her eyes traveled from his forehead, half-covered with sharp strands of hair, to his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. She skipped over his eyes (too dangerous) and looked at his aristocratic nose, then down at the thin line of his compressed lips, all the way down to his chin. There were the faintest black dots where a five o’ clock shadow would be – as if he had shaved recently but not that morning, which seemed at odds with his fastidious nature.

He appeared to be completely engrossed in observing her tongue, and for a split second she dared to look at his eyes behind his rectangular glasses. It was the first time she had gotten a proper look at him without the danger of imminent eye contact. The pale skin beneath his eyes was slightly sunken. Was he sleep-deprived? Did it have something to do with his midnight napping habits?

As if Mr. Sakamaki could sense Miyu’s scrutiny, his eyes flickered to hers, and she instinctively lowered her gaze.

“It is rude to stare,” he said, and blatantly stared at her in turn, not moving his face away for a long and suspenseful moment. Miyu focused on the tight little stitches along the edge of his perfectly white shirt collar until he sat back in his chair and jotted more things down in the black notebook.

“Your tongue has scallop marks on the sides,” he said. “This indicates that your tongue lacks the energy to avoid pressure against the teeth, and it is also slightly swollen from excessive accumulation of moisture in the body. I will add more root vegetables to your diet to address this pattern of spleen qi deficiency. However, overeating will exacerbate the situation, so take care to exercise more self-control than you have thus far.”

Apparently it would be harder to shut down his insults than Miyu had anticipated. But perhaps she could channel his condescension in a more fruitful direction.

“When I was reading ‘Understanding the Deeper Essence of Traditional Medicine’ this morning,” she said – taking initiative like a professional go-getter would – “the second chapter talked about the interactions of the five elements. There was an index with birth years and elements, and animals. It said my element is Water-”

“To be more specific,” Mr. Sakamaki cut in, “your element is Yang Water. Each element has both a yin and yang manifestation. Yin and yang alternate each year, and since your birth year, 2002, ends in an even number, your element is yang. You thus embody the yang manifestation of the most yin element.”

He had already thrown her off course, but Miyu was intrigued. “Is it very different to be Yang Water than Yin Water?”

Mr. Sakamaki nodded gravely. “Yang Water’s unruly force and current mean that it requires stronger boundaries than Yin Water. This element is difficult to restrain, characterized by an inordinate desire for freedom. But in fact, a person characterized by Yang Water has a deep-seated need for structure and limitations in order to thrive. In short…” He looked straight at her. “A need for discipline.”

Was that his favorite word? She squirmed as she recalled his mention of imminent discipline in response to last night’s dispenser incident.

But he continued in a different vein. “The Metal element has a strengthening effect upon Water,” he said. “Upon Yang Water in particular.”

By Metal, he doubtless referred to himself. And she supposed that he did have a strengthening effect on her, but not in a good way, and she dared to respond, “That which does not kill us only makes us stronger.”

Mr. Sakamaki gave her a withering look. “Please do not misquote Nietzsche. It is terribly aggravating.”

Was it Nietzsche who had first said that? Miyu chose to smile blankly rather than reveal her ignorance, and proceeded back towards the elusive topic of Mr. Sakamaki’s birth year and animal. “Speaking of Metal, that’s your element, isn’t it? Are you Yang or Yin?”

It worked. He couldn’t resist talking about himself. “Like Stephen Hawking, my element is Yin Metal.”

What a vain comparison to make, Miyu thought. And then something clicked. It was the glorious sort of moment that only ever seemed to happen to other people – the miracle of several disparate scraps of information aligning perfectly in her mind, and the whole outweighing the sum of its parts.

She realized that the high and mighty Mr. Sakamaki had made a mistake.

Stephen Hawking’s intellectual brilliance and unabashed atheism had earned him a special place in the hearts of Miyu’s parents, and – after his passing – a special place (in poster form) on the wall of their home office. The poster featured an iconic photo of him at Cambridge, with “Stephen William Hawking” emblazoned below in bold letters. And underneath, in smaller script, “1942 – 2018.”

He was born in 1942. It was an even number. That meant his element must be yang, not yin.

Miyu was so delighted that she could hardly contain herself. After taking a quiet moment to savor her victory, she said with the utmost nonchalance, “Oh, but I thought Stephen Hawking was born in 1942. Wouldn’t that make his element yang?”

Mr. Sakamaki looked at her and at first she thought he was peeved. But then for just a moment, his face broke into an instantaneous smile of recognition – the transparent kind of smile that appeared on the faces of people waiting at the bus terminal, when their lovers or friends got off the bus and caught their eye. For a second, he didn’t look like himself. It was like he had been the evil twin of a different, good-natured Mr. Sakamaki all along.

And then he laughed and said in a low voice – as if talking only to himself – “You clever thing.”

Miyu was overcome by the heady warmth of his approval. She felt giddy. Suddenly, she didn’t mind the insufferable Mr. Sakamaki so much. She had earned his favor now, and the best part was that it hadn’t been through flattery but through a genuine show of her abilities. She really was clever. He had said so.

She had unlocked the door. Now, just like the icy professor in tweed, he would begin to confide in her and ply her with cocoa and treat her like a teacher’s pet. Later she would laugh with her friends about how he was so difficult in the beginning, before she had proven herself.

Miyu’s rapidly unfolding fantasy dissolved as Mr. Sakamaki’s smile shifted into a smirk. “Clever, but not clever enough. You would be correct if the sexagenary cycle utilized the solar calendar. But Stephen Hawking was born in _January_ 1942\. His birthday falls under the year 1941 according to the lunar calendar. Therefore his element is Yin Metal.” He shook his head with a weary air. “You never quite think things all the way through, do you? How conceited to assume that you, a novice, knew more than an expert.”

Miyu despised him again. He was a pedantic snob. She would find every last weakness related to his element, his animal, his birth year, and whatever other personal information she could get her hands on, and the next time they met, she would thrust it all like blades into the chinks of his armor. And then he would stop smirking, and he would become businesslike to conceal his hurt pride, and he would reserve all his contempt for someone else. Not her.

“I believe you were asking a question about the book,” Mr. Sakamaki said.

It took Miyu a moment to navigate back to her starting point. “The index of birth years included animals, and I saw that I’m the Horse-”

“The seventh of the twelve zodiac animals. A free spirit and always in motion, much like Yang Water. Indecisive. Overly desirous of attention. Fearful of commitment.”

A professionally-minded person wouldn’t bother to listen to this, Miyu thought, and she cut to the chase. “So which zodiac animal are you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Considering how promptly he had revealed his element to be Yin Metal, Miyu hadn’t expected this response. “I’m just curious.”

His face was unreadable.

Back to professional mode. “We’ll be working together for a while,” she said. “As coworkers-”

“We are not coworkers. I am your superior.”

“Yes, of course.” She cringed inside. “What I mean is, since we don’t know each other very well-”

“I know you very well.”

No, he didn’t. No one had ever known her. Not Touma, not her parents, not Ichiro. And certainly not him.

She gave him a bland approximation of a smile. “Since we’ve only talked a few times, your first impression might be different from-”

“Pre-interview correspondence aside, I have interviewed you, managed your orientation and tour, and handled not one but two blatant violations of facility rules within your first twenty-four hours on the premises. I reviewed your resume and cover letter, read your essays on medical ethics and the role of hierarchy in society – weak argument structure, I might add – and assessed the results of all three of your personality tests. Not to mention the obvious information gleaned from knowing your blood type, bodily constitution, and zodiac information. I doubt that further icebreaking is necessary.”

“Mr. Sakamaki,” she said – saying his name felt pleasantly patronizing – “don’t you think it’s a bit one-sided?”

“It is completely one-sided, and by design. There are perfectly logical reasons for my extensive knowledge of your person. Do you have any such justification to learn more about me?”

“For a good working relationship, of course,” Miyu said. She could feel herself turning into the mouthpiece for a strangely confident version of herself buried deep inside. “It’s difficult to work effectively with a complete stranger.”

“You could ask any number of questions to improve our working relationship,” he said. “And yet rather than inquire as to my expectations regarding the tasks at hand, you are demanding to know the zodiac animal associated with my birth year. This seems to be a thinly veiled query regarding my age. And I believe that fact falls outside the scope of knowledge required for satisfactory execution of your duties.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to overstep,” she said with exaggerated deference. She ran the risk of adding some sass. “I was thoughtless. I realize that age can be quite a sensitive issue.”

“Indeed it can be. For _women_,” he replied, apparently nonplussed. “Projecting female insecurities onto a member of the opposite sex indicates a rather myopic outlook, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I’m not myopic,” Miyu said breezily. She wondered what madness was possessing her, and how long it would last. “Actually, I think I recall you asking about my vision at the interview. You may have forgotten. Both my eyes are 20/20. Oh…” She paused. Did she dare? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. About your myopia, I mean…” She gestured to his glasses and gave him an apologetic smile.

“Please do not be overly concerned with offending me,” he said. “Unlike certain individuals, I do not take personal offense to mere statements of fact. Although I am unclear on why you presume that I suffer from myopia, considering the vast number of conditions that justify the use of eyeglasses. Then again, perhaps ‘myopia’ is the only optometric term you know. You would do well to expand your vocabulary rather than flailing about with such paltry diction.”

Miyu was about to launch into a defense of her perfectly adequate vocabulary when Mr. Sakamaki added, “But I understand that unresolved curiosity can cause stress, which could eventually affect the quality of your blood. So for the sake of your health, I will deign to answer your inappropriately personal question. My zodiac animal is the Metal Sheep.”

Sheep? Miyu could sooner imagine him as a snake, dragon, or rat – actually, almost any zodiac animal other than a sheep – but perhaps God had a sense of humor. She could hardly wait to see what lay under the Sheep entry in the book. She would memorize every word. She would go to the facility library and find other books on the zodiac and read them as well. She would compile an entire notebook of information and…

“If you have no further inquiries,” Mr. Sakamaki said, “you may now change into these clothes. They will be better suited for acupuncture than your current attire.” He motioned to a neatly folded pile of fabric on the desk.

The brief thrill of their skirmish evaporated. Miyu felt she was back at the starting point somehow. She picked up the clothes, which seemed like a cross between scrubs and satin pajamas. “Where do I change?”

Mr. Sakamaki indicated a bamboo screen in the far corner of the room, with the edge of an acupuncture table visible from behind it. Miyu would have preferred a curtain, or a door with a latch, or an entirely separate room with a lock. Maybe a different building. But she went to the screen and quickly changed behind it, exchanging her drab blouse and skirt for the scrubs. The bottom half consisted of loose knee-length shorts instead of full-length pants, and the ensemble as a whole reminded her vaguely of a Korean sauna uniform. Or what a Korean sauna uniform might be if it were made of cream-colored silk (was this real silk?), with embroidered edges and frog loop closures down the front.

She reemerged and nearly bumped into Mr. Sakamaki, who had been waiting all too close on the other side of the screen. He gave her a cursory once-over.

“I see they fit well enough.”

He began to inexplicably walk towards her, although he was already well within the boundaries of her personal space. She automatically took a small step back, colliding with the acupuncture table behind her.

“Please lie down on the table.”

Miyu wasn’t sure in retrospect how she knew what he was going to do next. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes, or a kind of suspenseful energy that he projected, or some primal imprint left in her brain from last night. But before she was consciously aware of what she was doing, her hand flew up even as Mr. Sakamaki was still reaching around behind her. At the nape of her neck, she grabbed his fingers as they closed around her hairstick and began to pull.

“Mr. Sakamaki,” she said in her most self-assured professional voice, “please refrain from touching me.”

“It seems that you are the one touching _me_,” he said in an infuriatingly cool tone. She felt his fingers tighten on the hairstick. “Do you normally take hold of a man’s hand so easily?”

Miyu was not about to let him derail her. “Please let go. Now.”

“I’m afraid that you will need to let go of _me_ first.”

Miyu dropped her hand, and Mr. Sakamaki followed suit, taking the hairstick with him. He watched smugly as her hair fell out of the bun. She felt it make its sinuous way down her back.

“It would be terribly uncomfortable to lie down on the table with that stick in your hair,” he said, “and you would run the risk of impaling either yourself – which would be regrettable – or that pillow, which would be a travesty. Do you realize that pillow is filled with hand-selected organic buckwheat hulls and encased in high-quality silk? Not typical mulberry silk, but tussar silk, produced by the Japanese silk moth Antheraea yamamai. Were you to damage it, I would be forced to deduct the cost of replacement from your compensation package.”

Miyu longed to pick up the revered pillow and throw it at Mr. Sakamaki’s head, but settled for holding out her hand and saying through gritted teeth, “May I have my hairstick back? If I needed to remove it, you could have just told me. There was no need to-”

“Yesterday you were so hesitant to comply with my perfectly reasonable request pertaining to your hair.” He let the words sink in as he idly examined the hairstick, with no apparent intention of returning it. “In the interest of saving time, considering how your oversleeping delayed the start of our session, I simply took matters into my own hands.”

So this was a bid for revenge. She should have known. She could expect nothing less from such a petty control freak.

No, be professional, she thought. Stay on topic. “That kind of sudden… physical contact makes me uncomfortable.”

“It makes me uncomfortable as well,” he said, “and while I was justified in my actions, you have no excuse for yours. It was quite rude to suddenly take my hand. Please show more restraint in the future.”

“In the future,” Miyu persisted, “please tell me specifically what you need instead of touching me first.”

“You’re saying that you require a verbal warning?”

How wretchedly obtuse he could be. “Not a warning. Just tell me what you need-”

“Very well. Taking into account that you are unable to interpret obvious cues, I shall be sure to inform you _explicitly_ of what I need from now on.” Mr. Sakamaki gestured to the table. “I need you to lie down.”

He was just dropping the whole thing? Did this mean she had won? It felt alarmingly easy.

“Was my request too difficult to understand?” he asked. “Do you require my assistance to assume a horizontal position?”

What a horrible start, Miyu thought as she lay down on the stiff mattress that covered the table.

Mr. Sakamaki stepped away, giving her a convenient opportunity to glare in his wake, roll her eyes, and silently mouth exactly what she thought of him. It was only when her anger had died down from a boil to a simmer that she realized he had taken her hairstick with him. Would he give it back willingly later, or would she need to stage a hostage negotiation?

Perhaps it was just as well. At this rate, she might end up stabbing him with it.

A few moments later (still far too soon), Mr. Sakamaki reappeared with a rattling metal tray on wheels that reminded Miyu of the surgery scenes in TV dramas. But instead of scalpels and other surgical tools, it contained a large array of thin needles of varying lengths. The end of each one was covered with some sort of coiled metal like a handle, glinting gray and silver and gold.

A particularly odd instrument on the tray caught Miyu’s eye. It looked like a small hammer made of smoothly polished horn, but instead of a blunt head, there were sharp points sticking out of the end. She counted seven. It looked more like a torture device than medical equipment, and she prayed that Mr. Sakamaki would not use it on her.

He stepped up to her right side. “According to the practitioner you saw for your preliminary examination, you have never received acupuncture before, correct?”

“That’s right.” Miyu swallowed. “This is my first time.”

“I imagine you must feel afraid.”

“No,” she replied, trying to convince herself as well as him. “Just nervous.”

“Surely you must be afraid that it will hurt.”

She was. “Not really. I just don’t like needles.”

“And yet you applied for a job that requires regular blood draws and acupuncture.” Mr. Sakamaki sighed. “Then again, Water Horses are not known for their foresight.”

Miyu was too focused on the gleaming rows of needles to register his comment. He must have sensed it, because he stepped to block the tray from her view and leaned down towards her.

“I know you are afraid,” he said. His voice was so soft now that it startled her. “As much as you try to deny it.”

Miyu avoided looking at his face.

“Do not be ashamed to let me see it,” he continued in a soothing tone, quite at odds with his usual sharp demeanor. “You need not hide your fear from me. I understand. It’s only natural.”

Miyu balked at the semblance of tenderness in his voice. Was this Mr. Sakamaki’s idea of a bedside manner? Was he trying to make her lower her guard?

“I can tell from your pulse,” he continued. As if to prove his point, he pressed two fingers lightly against her wrist. “Do not worry. I will not cause you undue pain your first time. I will be gentle. More gentle than you can imagine.”

Miyu wasn’t sure which was worse – that Mr. Sakamaki was leaning in close, whispering what sounded disturbingly like sweet nothings, or that some cowardly part of her wanted to believe what he was saying. Would he really make it painless?

He abruptly straightened. “After all, you are scheduled to receive acupuncture on a nearly daily basis from now on. It wouldn’t do for you to have a negative first experience, would it? Someone as flighty as you would doubtless be easily traumatized, and then I would have the onerous responsibility of mitigating the effects for the next six months.”

He seemed to be returning to his normal caustic self. Thank goodness. His brief display of gentleness – if it qualified as that – had left Miyu far more unsettled than his usual insults.

“I will insert a total of eleven needles,” he said, all business again. “The meridians running along your body occur in perfect symmetry on both sides, so treatment of only side will be necessary. As this is your first time, I will use points on your right arm and leg, but avoid the more sensitive finger and toe areas until you are more accustomed to the procedure.”

Miyu had stopped listening after hearing the number of needles. Eleven sounded excessive. She imagined herself lying there like a porcupine with needles sticking up from every imaginable part of her body.

Mr. Sakamaki took her right hand and laid it facing palm-up so that the soft white underside of her forearm was exposed. Then he selected a needle from the assortment on the tray. He gently pressed a spot on her arm with the fingers of his left hand and began to bring the needle towards her. Miyu tensed involuntarily.

“Wait!” she said, before she could stop herself. “Not yet. I’m not ready.” She forced herself to slowly inhale and exhale.

“If the mere sight of the needle frightens you, you ought to close your eyes.”

Miyu tried closing them. She was suspended in blackness, punctuated with red and green afterimages from the overhead light. She was aware of nothing but the terrible expectation of a needle puncturing her skin without warning. Metal piercing flesh.

She immediately opened her eyes again. “It’s worse if I shut them.”

“In that case, let us try something different. Take a closer look.” He held the needle just a few inches away for her benefit. “As you can see, acupuncture needles are much thinner than hypodermic needles. Like a hair or a fine thread. If you feel pain from something so small, it is on account of your own over-anticipation and reaction, not due to the instrument itself.”

“Right.”

Mr. Sakamaki turned the needle towards her arm again, placing his fingers on the same spot as before, and Miyu clenched her teeth.

He threw her a disappointed look and set the needle back in the tray.

“When properly administered, acupuncture is painless,” he said. “But if you tense up so dramatically whenever I insert a needle, it will cause pain. You must relax.”

Miyu nodded. He brought the needle back into position.

“Why are you holding your breath?”

She exhaled, hating herself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I believe I told you to relax.”

“I’m _trying_ to relax,” Miyu said, before remembering their earlier exchange about how she shouldn’t try.

“As convenient as it would be to sedate you, such measures would reduce the efficacy of the acupuncture,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “While conscious relaxation would be the most optimal state, I suppose I can utilize distraction techniques as an expedient fix.”

Miyu doubted that she would ever be able to consciously relax in his presence, but she also wondered how she could possibly be distracted from something as skin-crawling as needles.

“It should not be difficult to divert your attention,” he said. “Stimulation of any point with ample nerve endings will do. As I require the use of both hands to insert and manipulate each needle, I do not have the freedom to provide continuous stimulation. Still, a bit of initial tactile…”

He suddenly reached toward her face, and she flinched only to see his hand disappear from view. A strange tingling buzzed from her scalp down her spine. He was touching her hair. Not touching – stroking.

He must have chosen this because he knew it was the one thing she was guaranteed to hate.

He had crossed the line. Miyu slipped out from under his hand and sat bolt upright, letting her legs swing off the edge of the table. “Mr. Sakamaki.”

“What is it? I did not give you permission to sit up.”

She had started it now, so she must finish it. She tried to conjure up the same fearless spirit that had taken hold of her before. “Please don’t touch my hair. I already asked you before-”

“The extent of your vanity is astounding. Frankly, your hair is already mussed up a bit from lying on the pillow. You need not be so sensitive about it. Your professional duties take precedence over the expectation of immaculate grooming.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Ah!” Mr. Sakamaki’s eyes lit up with an apparent bolt of insight. “If you are worried that I will think less of you for a disheveled appearance, please rest assured that I understand this is an exceptional situation.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Miyu said, doggedly swimming upstream against his relentless current of words. “I’m not comfortable with-“

“Comfortable? Your repeated displays of fright are making it impossible to carry out this acupuncture session. Full cooperation with the traditional medicine regime is one of your key job duties. I am merely trying to assist you in reaching an adequately relaxed state. Your comfort is not the highest priority at the moment.”

“It doesn’t feel appropriate,” she said. She was treading water now. “It’s just a little – you know…”

“Just a little what? Please express yourself clearly if you’re going to raise objections about how things are done.”

“It’s just very – it’s too – personal.”

“Personal?” Mr. Sakamaki looked almost disbelieving. “This is the furthest thing from personal. This is a matter of achieving the goals – mutually beneficial goals, I might add – for today’s session. I cannot believe how conceited you are to think that this has anything to do with you personally.”

“I really don’t like it,” Miyu said helplessly. No matter what, she wouldn’t back down this time.

“An odd thing to say, considering how amenable you were to it less than twenty-four hours ago. I logically considered your positive reaction then to serve as a suitable precedent for the present occasion. Yet now you don’t like it?”

He couldn’t actually be implying that she had enjoyed him touching her hair the night before. She felt ready to implode.

“I can make allowances to some extent, seeing how Water Horses are known for their indecision,” he went on. “But do you realize how counterproductive it is to send such mixed messages in the workplace? How is one to keep up with your ever-changing… _preferences_?”

“What happened last night,” Miyu said carefully (though she wanted to say “what _you_ _did_ last night”), “made me extremely uncomfortable.”

“Then you ought to have said something. If you find yourself in a state of discomfort, you are responsible for speaking up. You should not lay the burden of reading your mind on other people. It is terribly unprofessional.”

Wasn’t that what she was doing right now? Speaking up? He was steering their conversation in circles. Miyu was miserably aware that her face was growing hot. “I was being polite.”

Mr. Sakamaki’s expression hardened into stone. “Very well then. You may continue being polite.” He gestured to the table. “Please lie back down.”

Miyu stared down the fork in the road that lay before her. If she ceded this territory to Mr. Sakamaki, he might keep encroaching bit by bit until she had nothing left. What would a professional person do?

And then she thought of a solution. It wasn’t professional in the least, but fighting fire with fire might be the only strategy that would work. She lay down and stared fixedly at the ceiling, waiting for him to touch her.

The moment the tip of Mr. Sakamaki’s finger made contact with the top of her head, her whole body jerked.

“Calm down,” he said crossly. “Your overreactions are growing tiresome.”

He reached for her again. This time she did not jerk, but she tightened her calves and thighs and stomach and every muscle she could think of. She pressed her arms hard into the table. She clenched her teeth until her jaw trembled. Her muscles began to burn. She took fast, shallow breaths.

Mr. Sakamaki withdrew his hand, picked up her right wrist, and checked her pulse. Then he said in a dangerous tone, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” Miyu said flatly. “People touching my hair makes me nervous, so I tense up.”

An inscrutable expression momentarily flashed across Mr. Sakamaki’s face. Then he returned his hand to her head. To drive home her point, Miyu allowed herself a particularly intense shudder.

Mr. Sakamaki smiled and pressed the fingers of his other hand into her wrist. “Dear me,” he murmured. “Your heart is racing. Are you enjoying it that much?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: someone else was supposed to show up in this chapter, but things got long so I had to break things off here. Sorry, buddy. You'll get your chance to shine in Chapter 6.


	6. Uninvited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this chapter is slightly longer than usual, since I’m pretty sure it’s the last one I can post until mid-January (sob). I’m moving back to Korea next week (ugh so much packing to do) and then visiting family abroad for three weeks without my precious laptop. Alas. I hope you all have a great rest of December! Enjoy. :)

_Some people talk in their sleep. Lecturers talk while other people sleep. – Albert Camus_

Miyu had never slapped a man before in her life – or anyone at all, for that matter.

She’d had opportunities. There was her handsy chemistry lab partner in high school, but she had settled for knocking a beaker of something benign and severely staining down the front of his uniform. There was that tipsy upperclassman on the university camping trip, but references to her nonexistent boyfriend had deterred him adequately. And Touma certainly deserved a good slap (probably more than one), although Miyu doubted she’d have the guts even if she somehow saw him again.

Still, she had never had such a powerful visceral urge to slap someone as she did now – lying on the acupuncture table and staring up at Mr. Sakamaki as he suggested that she was enjoying his ministrations. Her hand quivered with the temptation of it. His face was close enough to slap. Would her hand get caught on his glasses? Would it be worth it?

No, this was insane. If she slapped him, she might be fired. Then everything up until now would have been for naught.

He may have sensed the struggle in her mind, because he seemed bent on aggravating her further. “As much as I would like to indulge you,” he said, “I was attempting to induce a state of relaxation, not work you into a frenzy. Curious, considering how you sat so still last night…”

He straightened, removing his hand from her wrist. She wouldn’t be able to slap him now.

“It is time to employ an alternative. I would rather not try hypnosis. I doubt you possess the correct disposition for it.”

He was right. There was no way she would allow him to hypnotize her.

“Perhaps someone as hypersensitive as you needs a different form of distraction. A mental exercise, rather than physical stimulation.” He picked up a needle again. “Look at the ceiling and tell me about your brother.”

Miyu blinked. She hated how he always changed the subject unexpectedly. “My brother? How do you know I have a brother?”

“He was listed as the only emergency contact on your personal information.”

“Right.” She had (with a great deal of guilt) listed her parents as deceased to avoid the admittedly remote possibility that they would be contacted for any reason. “Well, then you must know his name is Ichiro.”

“Yes.” Mr. Sakamaki paused. “Is he the firstborn son, as his name suggests?”

“Yes, but he’s not the firstborn child,” Miyu said. “I am. He’s four years younger than me.”

Mr. Sakamaki was touching a series of points on her arm with his fingers, but didn’t seem to be inserting any needles yet. “You must continue speaking if you want this distraction to work.”

“Right.” Miyu studied the ornate Victorian patterns in the ceiling plaster and tried to think of what to say about Ichiro. He was an IVF baby – her parents’ desire for a son was not to be denied even by the foibles of Mother Nature – but that wasn’t the sort of thing she could mention in polite conversation. He had asthma. He was allergic to shellfish.

“He’s in his final year of high school right now,” she said. “He’ll probably study computer science in university, since he wants to be a programmer. He’s interested in robots and things.”

Why did Mr. Sakamaki have to ask about Ichiro? That was all her mother’s friends ever asked about. Couldn’t he have asked about _her_, if he was going to ask intrusive questions anyway? Not that she wanted to tell him about herself, but she was in no mood to hold a press conference on the virtues of her precious sibling.

“He sounds intelligent,” Mr. Sakamaki said, continuing to gently probe her arm.

It was beyond Miyu how he could compliment Ichiro, whom he’d never even met, when he did nothing but disparage Miyu to her face.

“Oh, he’s very intelligent,” she said. “He’ll probably make the next great AI breakthrough or create a new supercomputer or something like that.”

She felt a tiny prick and realized that Mr. Sakamaki had inserted a needle. She glanced over and saw not one but three needles sticking up gracefully from the flesh of her arm – one upright, and two at more of an angle. There was a fourth delicately placed between the blue veins of her wrist. They quivered when she breathed. When had he put all of them in?

“There are still seven needles remaining,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “Please continue. You were commenting on your younger brother’s intelligence.”

“Yes, he’s very intelligent,” Miyu repeated, unable to look away from the needles now that she’d seen them. “He’s never had to try hard in school. It just comes naturally to him. But he still studies anyway.” She smiled. She watched Mr. Sakamaki put the next needle in with a flick, and it hurt (probably because she’d looked), but she kept smiling. “He won the Young Aspirants contest for something he programmed last year.”

“Eyes on the ceiling, please.”

Miyu complied. Their conversation – if it could be called that – petered out again as Mr. Sakamaki shifted further down the table and began palpating a spot on her calf.

“You have nothing else of interest to say about your brother?”

“He’s blood type O, like me.” This topic was going nowhere, and she had a hunch that Mr. Sakamaki was mining her for material to use against her somehow. “What about you? What’s your blood type?”

Ugh, she sounded like her flirtatious friend Nanami at university who was obsessed with the personality theory of blood types, and always asked men their blood type as a conversation starter.

“I am type O as well.”

She was surprised he hadn’t made a show of guarding that information, like the fact that his zodiac animal was the Sheep. She vaguely recalled Nanami having said something about type O men having “prince syndrome.” It was an assessment that seemed to fit both Mr. Sakamaki and her brother.

After placing the rest of the needles in Miyu’s leg, Mr. Sakamaki left and returned with a bulky warm compress that he laid over her midsection. It sent a pleasant warmth down to the end of every extremity.

He covered her needle-free left leg with a light blanket and turned on a strange red lamp above her, instructing her not to look at it – something about infrared waves – and then he told her to lie still, and left her side at last. She felt something finally uncoil within her.

It was always pleasant to lie still while she heard other people busy doing things. What a relief to have nothing expected of her. She wondered if Mr. Sakamaki would start pounding with the mortar and pestle again, but apparently he had the good sense not to. She heard him moving around the other side of the room – the rustling of clothes, the shifting of weight, the opening and closing of cabinets, the muffled clinking of glass beakers. It was rather like when she’d woken up early as a child, and heard her mother through the paper-thin wall separating her room from the kitchen. The click of the plastic catch on the rice cooker, the suck and thud of the refrigerator door, the shuffle of her mother’s house slippers.

She imagined her mother making breakfast for only Ichiro and her father now, not her. Had her parents left her room as it was? Or done something else with it?

_“We’re never seeing you again.”_

But no parent could truly unsee their child, could they? They must be seeing her in their mind’s eye. Did they imagine her wearing a cutesy apron, packing lunch for Touma before he left to work at the Nissei Electric factory in Tatsuyama? Did they hope she was happy, or hope she was miserable?

It didn’t matter. After all, they would never see the old, inadequate Miyu again. When she came back, she would be the kind of daughter who’d paid her own tuition and finished her business administration degree, and worked somewhere like Mitsubishi Corporation or Softbank. The kind of daughter with a bona fide fiancé from a good family. Touma would become a ghostly extension of her childhood folly, and her parents would never utter his name again.

Miyu’s thoughts surged and receded, lapping at the shore of her mind.

She might have dozed off, but she was certainly awake when she heard the measured footsteps that signaled the scourge of Mr. Sakamaki’s presence. “Thirty minutes have elapsed,” his disembodied voice said from somewhere on her right. “There are ten minutes remaining. Are you still awake? Have you noticed any particular sensations?”

Miyu silently thanked him for asking if she was awake. She was not about to entertain this imposition when she was so comfortable. She deserved ten more minutes of freedom from his snide comments and invasions of her personal space. She kept her eyes closed and did not respond.

A short sigh. “It seems that you have fallen asleep.”

Yes, she told him in her mind. She let her chest rise and fall almost imperceptibly with the slow, shallow breaths of the unconscious. She relaxed her eyes behind their lids.

Her act was almost ruined when he took her wrist in his hands to check her pulse again, but she willed herself to remain limp. She could hear his smile when he spoke again. “It is intriguing for a sleeping person to have such a fast heartbeat. Your anxiety may be more deep-rooted than I’d anticipated.”

The way he said it suggested that he was not convinced she was asleep. She consciously loosened every muscle and willed him to believe.

“Perhaps you are experiencing threshold consciousness,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “You may have entered the hypnopompic state, as you cross from sleep into waking. Did you know that frontal lobe activity is depressed during this transition? Slower reaction time. Impaired judgment.”

She heard him shift.

“As well as a deleterious impact on short-term memory retention. So perhaps you will not remember this.”

She stopped breathing entirely when she felt his hand smooth back the hair from her temples with his fingertips. His touch was light but deliberate.

“Or perhaps you will remember,” he murmured. His voice was close – he must have bent down over her. “But you won’t be able to admit it, will you? Since you are clearly _asleep_.”

A muscle above her eyelid twitched involuntarily.

“Never mind,” he said. His voice was further away again. “Even while sleeping, your eardrums vibrate, and your auditory nerves convey messages to your brain. Your brain is simply not paying attention. But in your case, that is not such a great difference from how you are when fully conscious, is it? Perhaps that was my fatal error all this time… talking to you while you were awake. You may be a remarkable specimen of humanity who absorbs material better when asleep than awake. This may be a good opportunity to experiment with this hypothesis.”

Did he really believe she was asleep? Was he talking to himself? Would he bother to insult her in his own monologue?

“To help soothe your anxiety, perhaps I should stimulate the meridian for the triple burner. What is the triple burner, you ask? It is a concept in traditional medicine and not a tangible organ, so of course you would find it rather incomprehensible. The triple burner generates, transports, and removes all bodily fluids. Thus it plays a key role in the production and flow of your blood.”

She felt the cool pressure of his hand on her own.

“The meridian for the triple burner originates at the tip of the fourth finger.”

As he spoke, he drew his finger lightly down to the crease where her ring finger met her upturned palm, then back up again. She felt both the hard edge of his fingernail and the smooth skin of his fingertip. He began to rub the base of her finger where a ring would normally sit, and she remembered the surreal moment at the interview when he had looked for ring marks to prove that she had no boyfriend.

“You are doubtless lacking with regard to solid scientific knowledge, but I suppose you are familiar with the spurious story of the Romans’ vena amoris, or love vein, which travels from the tip of the fourth finger directly to the heart. This tale is of dubious origin – some attribute it to Appian of Alexandria, while others point to the ideas of Levinus Lemnius, the sage of Zealand. No, not New Zealand – I am referring to Zealand, the most populous island in Denmark proper. I should not need to lecture you on basic geography.”

Miyu longed to speak. Losing to him in an actual argument was irritating enough, but it was unbearable to lose to him when he spoke for both of them. And she was hyperaware of the fact that he had not stopped massaging her ring finger. She wished he would stop.

“As for Dr. Lemnius, regarding the fourth finger, he wrote of how ‘a restoring force that is in it passeth to the heart, and refresheth the fountain of life’ – well, I doubt you have much appreciation for the work of 16th-century Dutch physicians. It is a waste of my time to even discuss this. Still, it is less tiresome to tell you about it when you are asleep, since you have thus far refrained from asking foolish questions.”

Miyu’s annoyance was dying down into puzzlement. Was he simply going to talk her ear off for the next ten minutes? He was taking the idea of a captive audience to a new extreme. She supposed he never had anyone to talk to, since anyone in their right mind would stay far away from him and avoid getting roped into a discussion. That was his own fault, of course.

Would he never let go of her finger?

“Modern biology has dismissed the ideas of Lemnius and Appian and their ilk, as all fingers are connected by veins to the heart, and the fourth finger has no special claim. But such a shallow understanding ignores the body’s system of invisible energy meridians. As I said earlier, the triple burner meridian does in fact originate at the tip of the fourth finger, and disperses into the chest. It is linked with the heart and the emotion of joy, and allows blood to flourish within the vessels. So as you can see, a healthy triple burner is essential to maintain your blood’s quality.”

He finally released her finger. She made a mental note to wash it thoroughly later, although Mr. Sakamaki’s skin itself was probably toxic enough to kill all germs on contact.

Miyu’s breath hitched in surprise when she felt his fingertip press against the very end of her right eyebrow, directly on the brow bone. She thought she heard him chuckle – was she imagining it? – and forced herself to breathe regularly.

“The upper branch of the triple burner meridian meets the gallbladder channel on the forehead,” Mr. Sakamaki said softly. He dragged his finger straight from the end of her eyebrow across to where her temple met her hair and pressed there. “This is the next point. TB-22.” He pressed a little lower. “TB-21.”

He continued along a series of points in an arch, going up around her ear and then down behind it, prodding with focused pressure into her skull. Then more gently on a point on her neck, just behind her jaw, before moving his finger down her neck and pressing the juncture midway between her neck and shoulder. It was the place where her muscles always tightened up when she was nervous.

“GB-21. I have moved on to the gallbladder meridian. This particular point can induce labor, so I would never stimulate it if you were pregnant. Of course you are not pregnant. That would be a violation of your contract. And while your adherence to the contract has been less than perfect thus far, there is such a thing as a reasonable scope of expectations. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Miyu did agree, and would have liked to add that very little of Mr. Sakamaki’s behavior fell under the scope of reasonable expectations.

“I seem to be rambling,” he hummed. “It is surprisingly comfortable to talk to a person who is asleep. Ah – or shall I say, a person who is supposed to be asleep. Are you not yet tired of your obvious ruse? In that case, I suppose now is a good opportunity to mention a few things without your talking back, seeing as you have conveniently silenced yourself.”

Miyu’s dread – which had gradually been subsumed by vague annoyance during his long-winded explanation – returned in full force.

“I imagine you are surprised at my sense of sportsmanship,” he said. “A lesser individual might resort to embarrassing tactics to reveal that you have been awake all along. Be grateful that I am above such childish behavior.”

What he was doing now seemed far more childish. Wouldn’t the mature thing be to leave when she had first pretended to be asleep? Was he incapable of playing along with the polite fiction that anyone else would in this situation? She wondered if it was too late to fake a gradual waking.

“I will graciously give you the opportunity now to reveal that you are not asleep. If you reveal the truth, of course you will be punished for your rudeness. But I am sure it will be a relief, since it will assuage your guilt. Guilt can cause blockages, after all, which lead to stagnation of qi and blood.”

Miyu weighed whether it would be more humiliating to continue to fake sleep, or act as if she was waking up. Maybe she could ride out the worst of it, and he would grow bored. She was in too deep to quit now.

“Of course, you may continue to feign sleep if you wish. I will not employ any unseemly means of awakening you, and there will be no punishment at all. I am giving you a choice.”

It felt like a trick, but Miyu didn’t see how either option gave her an out. Fearing conflict, she did nothing.

“So the farce continues,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “But know that just as I am indulging you with regard to this matter, it is only polite for you to indulge me on a certain point as well.”

She knew it. She should have taken the chance, punishment or no.

“You were quite impudent earlier, making accusations of unprofessional behavior on my part. Juxtaposed with your own behavior now, such allegations are laughable. Still, I would like to put one matter to rest once and for all. I realize now that, considering your volatile character and tendency to overdramatize the smallest situations, it may have startled you when I touched your hair without asking. So I will ask you now. From here on, do I have your express permission to touch your hair if I wish? Please do not trouble yourself to speak if you intend to maintain the appearance of sleep. I will take your silence as an indication of assent.”

Miyu lay still. In her mind, she flung herself against the bars of her cage and hissed and roared at him.

“You have said nothing. Thank you for your permission.” As if to test his conclusion, his fingers began to glide across the top of her head, working their way between strands of hair in a way that was becoming all too familiar. Miyu forced all the tension in her body down into her toes and allowed them to clench painfully while the rest of her remained limp as a doll.

She was so stupid to have stood up to him earlier. He must only be doing this because she had told him not to – forbidden fruit tasting sweeter and all that. No matter what scrap of her territory she had chosen to defend, he would have pinpointed it and made it into his target. Should she find something she didn’t care about one bit, and pretend to care very much? As a diversion? What would serve as suitable bait to throw him off the scent of what actually bothered her?

“I normally prefer honesty,” he said, “but I must admit your little schemes are entertaining. Perfect obedience is boring, after all. And your compliance would be meaningless if you offered it to everyone who demanded it. Obedience is sweeter when it’s been earned, don’t you think?”

Miyu wondered bitterly if his power trip would ever end.

“Of course, I am entitled to your obedience from the start, by virtue of both our contractual agreement and our respective places in the natural order of things. But I understand that you may be unaccustomed to meeting an individual who surpasses you so completely. Hence my lenience thus far, in spite of your insubordinate behavior.”

It felt like he was winding a strand of hair around his finger now. If she moved her head just a bit, perhaps she could bite the offending finger off. He would never see it coming. Would she go to jail for assault? There were mitigating circumstances.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking I want some tractable idiot who will obey just anyone,” he continued. “I want someone who will obey me and only me. And you should know that I am more pleased by the choice to obey than the fruit of obedience itself. Only shallow people focus solely on results to the detriment of process. How does the saying go… ‘attitude is everything,’ is it not?”

Miyu doubted that she had ever met an authority figure who exhibited – or inspired – a worse attitude than Mr. Sakamaki. And he sounded like he was in the market for a slave rather than an employee.

“Your tendency to resort to deceit is an unfortunate flaw that only thorough discipline can correct. However, I see that you do show promise. You are lying so still now, listening so well. In the face of such a serene exterior, I am quite tempted to test your endurance in response to physical stimuli, but as a man of my word, I cannot go back on my earlier promise. A shame, as I am sure your reaction would be amusing.”

He laughed quietly. Miyu was on the brink of shifting around and pretending to wake up. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. And then, without warning, he removed his hand from her hair.

“Speaking of discipline, I told you that you would be penalized for your unauthorized unplugging of the dispenser in your room. It took me quite some time to think of something appropriate. I have always believed that discipline should suit the offense in question. As your offense consisted of shutting off an electronic device, your punishment will be meted out in kind.”

Miyu didn’t quite follow.

“As of today, the water heater in your bathroom will be disabled. For the remainder of the week, all your showers and baths will be in cold water. An excellent remedy for improving sluggish circulation, and a daily reminder of the error of your ways. And do not think that lapses with regard to personal hygiene will be tolerated. If I am given reason to suspect that you are not closely following the bathing schedule outlined in the guidelines, I may enact further disciplinary measures.”

Cold showers wouldn’t be so bad, Miyu thought rebelliously. It was May. How cold could it be? She had swum at Shirahama Beach in October once. (Not that she cared to do it again.)

“Of course, a cold bath regimen means you must take special care not to fall ill. I will provide you with-”

Mr. Sakamaki stopped talking. Miyu heard the unmistakable sound of the laboratory door creaking open. A sharp intake of breath from Mr. Sakamaki, and he left her. She cracked an eye open but saw nothing beyond the bamboo screen.

Then she heard Mr. Sakamaki’s voice. He was speaking in a stage whisper that did nothing to mask his irritation. “The blood donor is undergoing acupuncture treatment. You must be aware of the schedule. What are you doing in here?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” It was a male voice, and familiar somehow. Miyu felt irrational gratitude towards whoever it was for rescuing her from the terrifying one-sided conversation with Mr. Sakamaki.

There was a long pause before she heard Mr. Sakamaki’s voice again. “And?”

“I want a drink.” Was it Subaru?

“Your personal fridge should still be adequately stocked.”

“Tch. That stuff is old.” Definitely Subaru.

“If I recall correctly, it still has sixteen days remaining until expiration.”

“It doesn’t taste the same anymore. It’s only making me thirstier.”

“Today is Tuesday. We agreed upon Friday. You need to wait until the scheduled-”

“You promised I wouldn’t smell her. You owe me for fixing things last night before everyone came home.”

A low chuckle. “We both know that was in your own best interests, not out of any selfless impulse on your part.”

Subaru mumbled something that Miyu couldn’t hear. She strained to catch it, but to no avail.

Mr. Sakamaki sighed. “If you’re that desperate for something warm, I’m sure that Laito could assist you with procuring-”

“I don’t want Laito’s nasty leftovers!” Followed by a loud thud. Had Subaru slammed his hand down on something? The countertop? The desk?

“Be quiet at once,” Mr. Sakamaki hissed. “You will disturb the donor. Now is not the time or place to discuss your grievances. Not to mention, I am terribly disappointed in your behavior last night.”

“Don’t chew me out. I was a freaking model citizen.”

“Ah… it had slipped my mind that property damage is the true hallmark of model citizenry. I suppose her bedroom wall smashed _itself_? Your lack of self-control is disgraceful. Imagine how shocking it must have been for – where are you going? Do not walk away while I am speaking to you. Subaru!”

A hand shoved the bamboo screen aside with a rattle, and Subaru stomped into view.  
“Hey.”

“Oh. Subaru,” Miyu said, unsure whether she should act surprised at his presence after already overhearing the conversation.

Mr. Sakamaki appeared behind him, looking terrifically put out. “Subaru, you are not permitted in here. Stop bothering the donor.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Miyu said, pleased with how annoyed Mr. Sakamaki looked. “It would be nice to have someone to keep me company.” She shot Mr. Sakamaki a pointed look that implied his company was far from satisfactory.

He looked suitably affronted. “This is a therapeutic acupuncture session, not a social event.”

“Well, there _was_ a lot of talking going on,” Miyu countered, before realizing she had just inadvertently revealed that she had not been asleep. She quickly turned to Subaru to change the subject. “I was actually hoping I’d run into you, since I wanted to apologize about last night. I didn’t realize you were sensitive to smells. I hope you’re doing okay now. Um… it didn’t make you sick or anything, right?”

Subaru looked taken aback. “Sick? No. Whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, good,” Miyu said. “I was worried.”

“How very charitable of you,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “Subaru, if you’re finished receiving your well-wishes, you may leave the laboratory now.”

“I told you. I want a drink.”

“There are drinks here?” Miyu said brightly.

Mr. Sakamaki shot Subaru a venomous look. “There is a selection of beverages intended for consumption during blood transfusion, to ensure adequate hydration. For consumption during transfusions _only._”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I’m here for,” Subaru muttered. He turned back to Miyu. “You’re the donor, aren’t you? Can we hurry up and do this?”

It took Miyu a moment to process what he said. “Do what? You mean a transfusion?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not scheduled until Friday,” Mr. Sakamaki hissed.

“I thought I was getting a blood draw today,” Miyu said helpfully.

“A minor blood draw for sampling purposes, yes. But the transfusion is not scheduled until-”

“Screw the schedule,” Subaru said. He stepped closer to the table and added as an aside to Miyu, “Reiji came up with it. Not like he asked for our input or anything.”

“Reiji did?” Miyu turned in confusion to Mr. Sakamaki. “Not you?”

Mr. Sakamaki visibly stiffened and glared at Subaru. Subaru glanced back and forth between them and let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, Reiji,” Subaru said. “Seriously?”

Mr. Sakamaki looked positively murderous. “Patient information is being disclosed on an as-needed basis.”

“What the heck? You said that this time-”

“I made an informed judgment based on the disposition of the donor. This is the course of action guaranteed to yield the best results.”

Miyu wished she knew what was going on. She knew that Mr. Sakamaki liked Reiji, and Subaru didn’t, but aside from that, she was lost.

“It’ll just blow up in your face again,” Subaru muttered. “This is so dumb.”

“Um, so Reiji is in charge of scheduling?” Miyu ventured. “Does he get a transfusion on Friday, too?”

Subaru scoffed. “I bet he needs one more than anyone. He’s probably dying right now.”

“It is rude to talk about others,” Mr. Sakamaki said, and Miyu expected him to say “behind their backs,” but his sentence ended abruptly.

Subaru let out a derisive snort. “So when is she going to meet him?”

“Not anytime soon. The fraternization ban is still in effect. Might I add that it still applies to you as well. You should not even be speaking with her.”

“Tch. That’s stupid. We’ve already met.”

“It does seem kind of pointless,” Miyu chimed in, eager to side with Subaru no matter how incomprehensible the conversation was. “Won’t the fraternization ban be lifted later anyway? We could just think of it as being lifted a little early.”

“Oh, aren’t you full of helpful suggestions,” Mr. Sakamaki said icily. “Utter disregard for the rules as usual. Have you already forgotten that the facility rules have a logical basis behind them?”

Miyu suddenly remembered what Subaru had said last night in her bedroom, about how the other patients might break the rules. Which rules? The ban, or something else? There were too many to keep track of.

“This isn’t fair,” Subaru growled at Mr. Sakamaki. “I helped you out.”

What an excellent chance to get on Subaru’s good side. “Mr. Sakamaki,” Miyu said, in the reasonable tone of a United Nations mediator or family therapist, “people aren’t machines. Shouldn’t the schedule be adjusted to fit the patient, not the other way around? I’m sure he wouldn’t request the transfusion early unless he really needed it.” She turned to Subaru and said with concern (exaggerated a bit for Mr. Sakamaki’s benefit), “Are you feeling anemic?”

Mr. Sakamaki let out a world-weary sigh and pushed up his glasses. “He is not anemic in the least. He will be perfectly fine without a transfusion until Friday.” He added to Subaru, as if Miyu wasn’t there, “She hasn’t even started taking her herbal medicine yet, as I am still preparing the ingredients. Any blood you receive today will have no special properties whatsoever. A second transfusion on Friday would be necessary regardless.”

“Wait,” Miyu broke in. “I can do two transfusions in a week? It seems like a lot to-”

“Shut up. It’s fine,” Subaru said. He grabbed the infrared lamp and shoved it out of position with a horrible creaking noise that made Mr. Sakamaki openly wince. Then he leaned towards Miyu.

“Want to know about Reiji?”

“Subaru.” Mr. Sakamaki’s voice was genuinely threatening now. “If you reveal patient information, there will be consequences.”

“So let me have some blood now.”

“Don’t be childish.”

“Fine.” Subaru bent down so close that Miyu could feel his breath and said directly into her ear, “I’ll come tell you about Reiji later. Open your door when I knock.”

He straightened, shoved the bamboo screen out of his way (almost knocking it over in the process), and went clomping over towards the door. Mr. Sakamaki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before marching after him. Miyu heard the door slam, reopen, and close quietly. There were muffled voices in the corridor – a steady stream of low remarks from Mr. Sakamaki, punctuated with brief eruptions from Subaru.

Had the unstoppable force met the immovable object?

They reentered a minute later, both looking agitated. Subaru was red in the face, and a muscle was working in Mr. Sakamaki’s jaw.

“There has been a slight change of plan,” he said sourly. “We will conduct the first transfusion today.”

Miyu looked at Subaru with newfound respect. If he had won an argument against Mr. Sakamaki, there must be more to him than his unruly appearance let on. Befriending him could become her lifeline. Perhaps he knew all the chinks in Mr. Sakamaki’s armor.

Subaru skulked around the room while a dreadfully miffed Mr. Sakamaki returned to Miyu’s side. He took away the heavy compress and removed the needles from her arm and leg in complete silence, save for the clink of each one as he placed it in the tray. Then he took a tiny square disinfecting wipe and dabbed each spot. It stung a bit, and when he discarded it in the tray, Miyu saw it was dotted with red.

“I didn’t know acupuncture would make me bleed,” she said, with a kind of wide-eyed innocence that she hoped would appeal to Mr. Sakamaki’s pride and dispel his little storm cloud of resentment.

“If an individual capillary is punctured, it can cause a drop or two of blood to appear upon removal of the needle,” he replied. “You may also experience mild bruising. I will inspect the sites tomorrow.”

It was an unwelcome reminder that she would be undergoing the same process tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Miyu wondered how long it would take to get used to this. Surely she would. Everyone got used to everything eventually, didn’t they?

“You may sit up now.”

She sat up a bit too quickly and felt lightheaded. He noticed. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” she said. “Light.” She was unsure how to describe such an odd floating sensation.

Mr. Sakamaki reached down and pulled some sort of crank, and the top half of the acupuncture table was ratcheted partway up like a hospital bed. “Lie back down. Your blood draw will take place here.”

He disappeared to the other side of the screen. The strange lightness did not go away even when Miyu sank back into a half-reclining position. It was a bit like being drunk, but her head was clearer. She wasn’t sure if she would rather lie down and sleep, or run a marathon. Both felt equally possible.

Faint strains of classical music began to waft over from the other side of the room. Mr. Sakamaki reappeared, pushing the wheeled metal tray.

“Listening to music increases milk production in cows,” he said. Before Miyu could respond to this less than flattering comparison, he continued, “Obviously the music-induced release of oxytocin is not a significant factor in blood transfusion, but the stress-reducing effect is beneficial.”

With some scraping of chairs on the floor and more rattling about of the tray, everything was put into position. From what Miyu could tell, Subaru was seated in a chair on the other side of the bamboo screen. Mr. Sakamaki handed Miyu a juice box with a straw in it. “For hydration.”

She would never have guessed that the special beverage for consumption during transfusions only was… cranberry juice. She took a hopeful sip and nearly spat it out. First the lemon juice at the interview, and now this? Did Mr. Sakamaki have some moral objection to any form of sweetening?

“That’s a little sour,” she said, glancing at the bamboo screen. “Subaru, this is what you wanted to drink so much?”

No acknowledgment but a noncommittal “Tch.”

Mr. Sakamaki stood near her shoulder and chose a frighteningly large syringe from the assortment of equipment on the tray.

“This will be a direct transfusion, which is a bit different from ordinary blood donation,” he said. “Your blood will be transferred with no intermediary processing of any kind. I will take a small blood sample first, and then I will hook up the transfusion tube.”

The needle looked enormous.

As if he had read her mind, Mr. Sakamaki said, “This is a 17-gauge needle. It is designed to minimize the shearing forces that have an irreversibly damaging effect upon red blood cells. Although the standard 16-gauge is more widely used, I selected the smaller 17-gauge due to your… anxiety.”

How considerate of him.

“Unlike the acupuncture, this will hurt,” he said matter-of-factly. “As you have donated blood and plasma before, I am sure you are familiar with the sensation.”

He told her to make a fist, and when she obeyed, he traced the veins in the crook of her elbow with his index finger and tapped gently. Then, with a circular motion, he disinfected the area with a startlingly cold wipe. Goosebumps broke out all down her arm.

He picked up the syringe, and Miyu took a deep breath.

He just hovered. The suspense was terrible.

“Are you going to do it?” Miyu finally asked, wondering if he was deliberately prolonging the agony of anticipation.

“Your lack of patience is lamentable. I am waiting for the disinfectant to dry,” he said. “You would feel a sting from the needle if I inserted it while the surface of your skin was still wet. Waiting will reduce the pain.”

Miyu was surprised that he was waiting at all rather than plunging it in quickly on purpose. He probably just didn’t want her arm to jerk.

“Don’t I need to squeeze a little ball in my fist or something?” she asked, hoping for a distraction.

“No. Fist pumping is an outdated practice. And in a direct transfusion such as this one, there will be a mild vacuum effect that ensures bloodflow in the correct direction, without any effort required on your part.”

“Oh.”

Mr. Sakamaki firmly grasped her arm a couple inches below the crook of her elbow and pointed it slightly downward, pulling the skin taut with his thumb. Miyu watched him line up the needle with her vein.

“Look at me,” he said suddenly.

She glanced up at his face questioningly and gasped as the needle pierced her skin at the same time. Nurses always said it was a “little pinch,” but that was a ridiculous euphemism for the horrible sharp cold of metal sticking too deep into her.

She slowly inhaled and exhaled before daring to look down at her arm. Mr. Sakamaki was slowly pulling out the plunger of the syringe, letting it fill with blood. Then he removed it, attached a transparent tube, and taped down the needle.

Miyu watched as a line of bright red crawled up the thin tube, which was draped over the metal tray of tools and wound its way around the bamboo screen, out of sight. Miyu imagined how Subaru must be sitting on the other side of the screen with a tube in his arm, too.

And then Miyu felt it.

Mr. Sakamaki had said it would be a mild vacuum effect. This was more like a powerful suction, sort of like when she put her hand over the brush attachment to the vacuum cleaner. The suction had a strange rhythm to it. She would feel a strong tug for a moment, and then it would release, and then repeat again – as if someone was pulling a string deep inside her arm. Sometimes it would stop for several seconds at a time. It was unlike any blood donation Miyu had experienced before.

Her reaction must have shown on her face, because Mr. Sakamaki cleared his throat loudly. She tore her eyes away from the red in the tube and looked up at him.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “It just feels weird.”

“You should be staying hydrated,” he scolded, picking up Miyu’s juice box and holding it directly under her mouth.

“Right.” She absentmindedly took it and sucked at the straw. It was bizarrely similar to the sensation in her arm. She wished the drink was something other than cranberry juice.

But it seemed that Subaru was keen on cranberry juice, because he was drinking rather noisily. She recalled Subaru and Mr. Sakamaki’s odd exchange earlier about special beverages, and toyed with the amusing idea that Subaru had requested the transfusion just so he could drink some juice. Then she heard Subaru’s voice.

“Why is this straw so small? Weren’t they bigger before?”

“Are you referring to the diameter?” Mr. Sakamaki asked. “Because the length is the same.”

“It’s like I’m not even drinking,” Subaru complained. “It’s like this tiny little thread of liquid.”

“I know, right?” Miyu said amiably, taking another quick sip herself as she tried to edge her way into the conversation. “I think it’s a ploy so you feel like you’re drinking a lot even though the juice box is tiny. Haven’t juice boxes been getting smaller, too? Even though the price stays the same?”

There was such a long silence that Miyu thought Subaru was deliberately ignoring her, until at last he responded. “Tch. I guess.”

Trying to take her mind off the sucking sensation in her arm (was it her imagination, or was it getting stronger?), Miyu focused on the music emanating from the other side of the room. The first classical piece had ended, and a new one was just beginning. At first it seemed like a simple piano piece. But after a few seconds, the piano was joined by an unbearably gentle German tenor. His voice rode the undercurrent of piano, rising and falling in unexpected directions, mounting up and up in a rush of emotion before dwindling back into something plaintive.

She wished she could understand the lyrics. The piece stirred something terrible and sad within her. She stared at the pattern of the bamboo screen as a thousand tiny magnets seemed to pull at the inside of her arm, and the music transported her out of the laboratory and into another realm.

When the song ended, its imprint lay over the room, hanging over the three of them. Miyu felt she had been blanketed with something holy. It would be a terrible loss if she didn’t learn what it was.

“Who composed this?” she asked Mr. Sakamaki, fellow witness to the divine, who had been rooted to one spot the whole time like a soldier standing at attention.

“Brahms. It is called ‘Die Mainacht.’” He paused. “Ah, of course you wouldn’t understand the title. It means ‘May Night.’”

How appropriate, Miyu thought, since it was May now. “It’s so sad,” she said to no one in particular. It seemed like she had to say something. The music needed to be acknowledged.

“Simply ‘sad’? What a surface-level assessment,” Mr. Sakamaki said. “The lyrics are based on a Hölty poem that explores themes of loneliness. This piece expresses not only sadness, but also restlessness, as the wanderer is reminded of his absent or lost lover. The climax and catharsis reflect the emotional relief that human beings feel after dissolving into tears.”

“Can’t we just listen to the music without some crappy lecture?” Subaru grumbled from behind the screen.

“Deeper understanding ought to lead to deeper appreciation,” Mr. Sakamaki replied. “I offered an explanation in an effort to reduce the ignorance around me, but I understand if not everyone is capable of grasping it.” Before either Subaru or Miyu could respond, he added, “The transfusion time is up.”

“Already?” Subaru made an awkward slurping sound. Miyu was surprised he had any juice left at the rate he’d been drinking. Had Mr. Sakamaki given him more than one? Typical nepotism.

“Five minutes have elapsed. I am closing off the transfusion line now.” Mr. Sakamaki reached down towards Miyu’s arm, and she avoided looking this time. Now was the dangerous part. In her short history of blood and plasma donation, there always seemed to be a fifty-fifty chance of her passing out – not from blood loss like an elegant, tragic heroine, but from mere squeamishness, which was embarrassing. It only ever happened at the end, or a few minutes afterward. She would need to be careful.

The next song had begun in Mr. Sakamaki’s cow-milking music collection, and Miyu concentrated on the orderly cadence of the string quartet (possibly Mendelssohn?) until Mr. Sakamaki had finished disinfecting her arm. He applied a square of gauze and secured it with an excessive amount of medical tape.

“You should rest here for twenty minutes,” he said, and disappeared behind the screen, presumably to attend to Subaru. She heard him say acidly, “I daresay you will have less difficulty falling asleep now?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Miyu was surprised to hear Subaru’s unmistakable footsteps (he was a one-man stampede) already heading for the door. It was too fast. She still needed to talk with him – she couldn’t waste twenty minutes lying here – and she didn’t want to be left alone with Mr. Sakamaki after the fake sleep incident. He might have a great deal more to say on the topic of _obedience_. She scrambled to think of something.

“Mr. Sakamaki,” she said, sitting up all the way, “I need to use the restroom. Can I do that and just lie down in my room instead?”

He returned to her side of the screen. “Are you incapable of waiting?”

“I really need to,” she said, daring to hop off the table and slide her feet into her slippers despite not having received permission. “I think it was the juice.”

He frowned and took a step towards her. “You don’t feel lightheaded?”

“Not at all.” She crouched to grab her messenger bag from the beneath the table, rising unnecessarily quickly and ignoring the smattering of black spots in her vision.

Mr. Sakamaki sighed. “Very well, but don’t make a habit of this. You ought to plan better next time. Subaru, escort her back to her room.”

“I’m not a babysitter,” Subaru said, but he waited for her all the same. As Miyu made a beeline for the door, feeling quite woozy but hoping she didn’t look it, Mr. Sakamaki threw out a barrage of last-minute instructions.

“You must lie down for a minimum of twenty minutes,” he called out after her. “No undue exertion. Lunch is at noon. You have free time until then. You should spend some time in the garden for fresh air and sun exposure. And I should not need to remind you, but stay out of restricted areas.”

“I will,” Miyu said, reaching the door at the same time as Subaru. They both awkwardly stopped to wait for the other to go through.

“And reapply the prophylactic spray. Now, before you go.”

Miyu dug it out of her bag and quickly sprayed her arms and legs.

“Watch where you point that,” Subaru coughed, trying to wave the cloud of metallic-smelling vapor away.

“Sorry.” She didn’t mind apologizing to Subaru. If he was in his first year of university, he must be younger than her, so apologizing felt like an act of graciousness on her part. Unlike her apologies to Mr. Sakamaki, which were starting to feel like a series of small humiliations.

Subaru made his exit first, nearly tearing the door off its hinges as he swung it open, and Miyu closed it behind them with equal parts relief and caution. It was only when they were in the corridor that she realized she had left her clothes in the laboratory, and was still wearing the loose silk top and shorts of the acupuncture uniform. And her hair was down, since her hairstick was still in the clutches of Mr. Sakamaki.

She paused momentarily before deciding that it didn’t matter. She could always retrieve her things later, but this might be a rare chance to talk to Subaru. This could be the turning point she desperately needed. So she set off down the hallway, keen to forge a new alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts! I’ll keep checking in throughout the holiday season to consume your inspiring and life-giving comments, like a bird eating birdseed… at a bird feeder… in winter. Yup. Thanks for reading as always. See you in January!


	7. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to finally return to the world of dialovers! Coronavirus blew up in Korea a bit earlier than elsewhere, so things have been kind of disrupted for the past couple months. I'm back to writing now though! I hope you're all staying safe and well in your respective countries.

_The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters. - Friedrich Nietzsche _

“Where the heck are you going?”

Miyu stopped. “We’re going back to my room, right?” Did Subaru have something else in mind?

“Your room is that way.”

“Oh.” She turned to follow him. “I don’t have the best sense of direction.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

In the laboratory, Subaru’s presence had been a welcome shield against Mr. Sakamaki. But now that Miyu was alone with him in the dim corridor, his angry outburst in her room the night before loomed large in her mind. He seemed to be glowering now as well. Was he still angry at her, she wondered, or was this residual irritation from dealing with Mr. Sakamaki? Or did Subaru just have a permanent chip on his shoulder against the entire world?

There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but she didn’t know where to start, and she knew it wouldn’t take long to get to her room. She settled for a safe opener.

"Are you feeling okay after the transfusion?" she asked, wanting to walk beside him but somehow stuck half a step behind.

"I guess."

“Did you drink all your cranberry juice? I had trouble finishing mine. It was so sour.”

No response.

She tried again, stepping forward to keep pace with him and disregarding how it made her head spin. “I guess it’s important to stay hydrated, though, right?”

“Right.”

Miyu wondered if it was possible to extract more than two words from him at a time. “So what are you doing later?” she asked, hoping it didn't sound too forward. “I was wondering if maybe you could show me around a little.”

“Didn’t you get a tour?”

“Yes, but Mr. Sakamaki isn’t very… welcoming,” she finished lamely. “I’d rather get the inside scoop, you know?”

“Don’t go poking your nose everywhere. It’ll get you in trouble.”

“It seems like almost anything I do could get me in trouble with him,” she said, steering the conversation towards their (presumably) common enemy. Maybe she could build rapport through commiseration. “Sorry – I know he’s a relative of yours. How are you related, anyway?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really. I’m just curious. Are you cousins?”

“Why the heck do you care?”

"I thought maybe he came to work here because you were already here." She laughed awkwardly. “How long have you been here, anyway?”

“A long time.”

She was getting nowhere.

"Is it kind of a... permanent thing, or will you get discharged later?"

Subaru picked up his pace, somehow making significant noise despite the carpeted floor. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Um, I just-”

“It’s annoying.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s annoying when you apologize, too.”

She bit back another “sorry.” They walked in silence. She could feel the moments of her precious opportunity slipping away and forced herself to try again.

“I know I won't be meeting the other patients anytime soon, but just in case I run into them-”

“I told you to stay away from them, didn’t I?” Subaru stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her. “What’s with the interrogation? Maybe it’s better if you don’t know everything. Ever considered that?”

“I don’t mean to pry," Miyu said, stopping along with him. It made her nauseous for some reason. "It’s just that if I’ll be living here for the next six months, I want to get to know everyone. Mr. Sakamaki has been giving me a hard time, so if you have any advice-”

“Advice?” Subaru snorted. “I’ll give you some advice, so listen up. Do as you’re told, stick to your schedule, and don’t open your door all the time. And don’t come out of your room at night.” 

At least she had something specific to work with now. “Why not? I mean, I know it’s against the rules, but are the rules really that important?”

“Tch. I don’t give a rip about the rules.” He started walking again and said over his shoulder, “It’s because the guys are up at night.”

The guys. That’s what he had called them last night, too – “the guys,” not “the patients.”

“Why are they up at night?” Miyu asked, jogging to keep up with him. It triggered another surge of nausea. She veered off course for a moment and nearly ran into the wall. Why was she so lightheaded?

No answer from Subaru, so she tried again. “Then why are you up right now?”

“Did you miss the part where I was getting blood from you? I’m pretty sure we were in the same room. Seriously, are you dumb?”

“Look,” Miyu said, her exasperation getting the better of her, “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but..." She lost track of what she was trying to say. Then oddly enough, the floor began to rise up in front of her. It was so strange that she stopped walking to look at it. Her field of vision was smaller than it should be. There was black creeping in at the edges.

She heard herself say, "I think I should sit down." Subaru was saying some other things from far away, and then everything was gray with little flecks of color mixed in, like the snow on the screen of an analog TV set. It was all so unbearably loud, she must be in Hell. She couldn’t stand it anymore-

She was looking at the ceiling through a layer of gossamer fabric. The bed canopy. There was a water stain that looked like a rose.

It was the ceiling of her room, and she was lying on her bed. Subaru was sitting on the edge, in a position that suggested he was ready to either pounce or flee.

“You passed out.”

Miyu thought back to the blood transfusion, and following Subaru out of the room, and walking down the corridor. Had they argued? She began to sit up, but his hand on her shoulder shoved her back down. He could have been gentler.

“Why couldn’t you stay put in the room like he told you?”

It took her a while to remember. “I had to use the bathroom.”

“Yeah, right. You were just saying that since you wanted to leave.”

If it was that obvious even to Subaru, Mr. Sakamaki must have seen right through her. Miyu cursed herself inwardly before coming to a sudden realization. She suspected she already knew the answer, but she had to ask to be sure.

"If I passed out on the way here, how did I get back?"

"I carried you. Obviously."

"Oh." She wasn't sure what to make of that. "Thank you. I'm sorry to put you to so much trouble-"

"It's not like it was hard to carry you. You know, you'd be really easy to kidnap. Do you always just collapse in a heap in front of guys you don't know, and let them haul you wherever?"

Subaru seemed to be getting angry again. Did he operate on some kind of timer that set him off every five minutes?

"I'm sorry," Miyu repeated. "It's nothing major. I faint sometimes when I get shots or give blood, and-"

"This has happened before?" Her comment was clearly a mistake, because he looked furious now. "Maybe you should've said something, huh? Instead of running around right after you lost a bunch of blood." His eyes narrowed. "Is it even okay for you to keep giving blood? Maybe you shouldn't even have this job. You're still on probation. Does _he_ know about how you faint? Did you give him fake medical records or something?" He grabbed her wrist and pulled it up. Her arm looked like a little doll's arm in his grasp. "You seem really weak."

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine!" Miyu protested, wildly trying to think of what to say as she pulled her wrist out of his grasp. He didn't try to hold on. "It was probably just because it was the first transfusion, right? I mean, I'll be on a special diet and have herbal medicine and everything, so won't that make me... healthier?"

An awkward silence descended. She couldn't tell if it meant Subaru agreed with her, or was thinking about it, or had simply decided to ignore her completely.

“I feel all right now," she said finally. It was too uncomfortable to keep lying there with Subaru looming over her. "I think I can get up.”

Subaru was pushing her back down before she had risen an inch. “Stay put. I'm not letting you faint again."

Miyu felt a peculiar little rush of some unnamed feeling at Subaru’s response. It was nice to be fawned over, even if he was a bit brusque. At least he was straightforward. It was a refreshing change of pace from Mr. Sakamaki's quiet ambushes.

Thoughts of Mr. Sakamaki brought her back to the exchange in the laboratory. “So what was that whole Reiji thing about earlier?” she asked, hoping to squeeze some information out of Subaru before she inadvertently triggered another explosion.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell you.”

“What?” She sat up ever-so-slightly, propping herself up on her elbows. “You said you’d come to my room and tell me about him.”

“I asked if you wanted to know about Reiji. I didn’t promise you anything.”

“Oh, and then you promised Mr. Sakamaki you wouldn’t tell me after all?”

"Pretty much."

"Is Reiji his favorite patient?"

Judging from Subaru's ghost of a grin, which vanished as soon as Miyu noticed it, he seemed to find this amusing. "Tch. He doesn't play favorites. But he hates Shu's guts, so watch out."

"Why does he hate Shu?"

"Long story."

Miyu dared to sit up all the way, scooting far enough back to lean against the headboard. Subaru didn't stop her.

"Shu's the narcoleptic one, right?" she said. "He looked kind of normal. In his picture, anyway."

"Falling for the pretty boy like everyone else, huh?" Subaru stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began pacing in the tiny amount of floor space between the bed and the desk. Apparently sitting still for two minutes had been too much for him.

"None of the guys are normal," he added. "Don't kid yourself."

"I figure once the fraternization ban ends-" Miyu began, but he cut her off with a bitter laugh.

"The whole fraternization ban thing? That's just delaying the inevitable." He shoved the desk chair out of his way. "You'll meet all of the guys eventually, and when you do, you'll regret it. That's why you're getting paid so much. You thought this would be some cushy cakewalk job or something? You're getting paid to deal with their crap."

"Is this about what Mr. Sakamaki said before? About them having issues?"

"Yeah, it is," Subaru said, spinning the desk chair violently. "Imagine that."

"But you're... okay," Miyu said, using a fairly liberal definition of "okay" that glossed over Subaru's tendency to barge into people's bedrooms, smash holes in walls, and lash out verbally. Maybe she could flatter him. "I guess you're the only sane person here then?"

He whirled around again and walked straight into the bed like a bulldozer, sinking one knee into the mattress and slamming a hand into the headboard just above her shoulder. “You don’t know a thing about me, so don’t act like you do," he hissed, leaning in close. "I'm the worst of them, okay? You think I'm your friendly personal tour guide just because I haven't-" He broke off abruptly, breathing hard, looking at the far wall instead of her.

"You think everyone is just dying to be your pal or what?" he whispered, turning back to face her at an all-too-close distance. "Do you have a clue about anything at all?”

“Maybe I would if you would tell me,” Miyu shot back, her frustration momentarily outweighing her fright. She was beginning to think that Subaru was all bark and no bite.

“I don’t want to freak you out!”

He looked as angry as he had the night before, and he was that close to her as well. She half-expected him to punch the wall again.

“You’re sort of freaking me out now, actually."

“Good. Then maybe you’ll listen for once!”

He didn't punch the headboard, but he did take one of her pillows and fling it across the room. He must have torn it in the process, because as it sailed through the air, it opened up and exploded in an otherworldly burst of white feathers. They drifted lazily down and settled over the room, clinging to the bedposts and the covers. It lent the scene a surreal quality, as if the room had transformed into a Christmas snow globe. 

Miyu saw Subaru's face darken, almost as if he was ashamed, and he stood up and leaned on the desk, deliberately staring past her rather than at her.

"I am listening," she said in a subdued voice. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Subaru started to say something, stopped, and finally muttered, "You’re the only girl here. Got it?”

Miyu’s face heated up. “What does that have to do with anything I just asked about?”

“Just use your brain," he snapped, turning away and looking out the window. "If you have one.”

It was embarrassing, but she needed to clarify. “You’re saying they might harass me or something?”

“More like they definitely will. So stay away from them.”

This was oddly flattering and disconcerting at the same time. "Mr. Sakamaki wouldn't let that happen," she said. "He has all those rules, and-"

"Right, I forgot. The all-powerful stick-in-the-mud." Subaru turned back to her and rolled his eyes. "There's only one of him. You think he can be everywhere at once? He's not some kind of super-cop."

Miyu was momentarily sidetracked by the mental image of super-cop Officer Sakamaki, decked out in an incongruous array of police gear, bursting into the room and handcuffing Subaru for his ongoing violation of the fraternization ban.

"But if I told him one of the... guys... bothered me, he'd do something about it, wouldn't he?"

"Depends. He's big on consequences if you're the one who screws up. Don't expect him to automatically side with you."

That sounded ominous. “I guess it’s a good thing that I have a few years of aikido under my belt,” she said, in a feeble attempt at a joke. If she didn't lighten the mood somehow, she might not have any pillows left by the time Subaru made his exit.

“Aikido?”

Miyu nodded. “The martial art. ‘The way of harmonious spirit,’ right?” She had been enrolled in aikido until her parents became concerned it was going in the direction of too much mumbo-jumbo, and switched her to swimming at the start of high school.

“You think you’ll be okay because you know aikido?” Subaru repeated, as if she had declared the earth to be flat. He began to slowly approach her.

“I wouldn’t say I know it exactly,” Miyu said, with growing concern that he was taking her seriously. “I’ve forgotten basically all of it. But a little muscle memory is better than nothing, right?”

When Subaru reached the bed, Miyu instinctively tried to scoot away, but he grabbed her wrist and jerked her back towards him.

“Muscle memory?” he hissed. “Try some of your fancy aikido moves then. Let’s see if they work.”

A vague recollection of how to escape a wrist grab flickered in the back of Miyu's mind before her mind went blank entirely. Subaru was squeezing her wrist so hard that it hurt.

"Come on," she said with a weak laugh. "I didn't mean it."

“I’m not playing around," he growled. "You shouldn't play around, either."

Something seemed to stick in her throat. “Come on. Let go.”

He tightened his grip. A white-hot bolt of pain shot up her arm.

"That hurts," she gasped, trying to wrench her wrist away. "You're hurting me!"

“You really are stupid if you think you can go up against a man." Subaru yanked her so close that their noses nearly touched. "Keep that in mind, huh?"

Miyu went completely still. She saw a hardness in his eyes, and then they shifted and he looked almost...

"Screw this." He suddenly let her go and stood up, stomping over to the door. Miyu clutched her throbbing wrist and stared at him as he flung the door open and stalked out.

After a shocked minute, she stood up and looked helplessly around the feather-covered room. "This is definitely going to bruise," she said out loud, and added "jerk" under her breath for good measure. Did Subaru not realize how strong he was? Her heart wouldn't stop racing.

She told herself to calm down. Surely he hadn't meant to hurt her. And throwing the pillow was no big deal. Her father sometimes threw things when he got angry, so obviously it was normal for men to do that. Touma hadn't been like that, but Touma didn't even have the guts to get angry, so he didn't count.

If she could just avoid making Subaru angry, everything would be fine. She set about collecting feathers off the floor. It was her own fault, really. She should have read Subaru better. Sometimes Ichiro upset their father when his grades were worse than expected (there were no high expectations for Miyu's grades), and Miyu always cringed seeing how Ichiro blundered around, just making their father angrier with his excuses.

She'd been stupid like that just now. Next time she'd be more careful, and not set Subaru off, and-

"Hey."

Miyu dropped all her feathers and nearly screamed. Subaru was standing rigidly in the doorway.

"What is it?" Miyu asked.

Before she knew it, he had sent a pink projectile whizzing through the air towards her head. She barely ducked out of the way, and it landed on the bed.

"You were supposed to catch that," he said, raking a hand through his already thoroughly tousled hair. "It's not my fault you're slow."

Miyu picked it up. It was a bag of garishly red pickled ginger, like the kind one would use in yakisoba or takoyaki.

"Um," she said, unsure how to react. "Thank you...?"

"It's for your wrist, idiot. It's cold. Don't let it bruise, or he'll give you an earful."

He was presumably referring to Mr. Sakamaki. Miyu picked up the bag. It was quite cool, as if it had just been pulled from the refrigerator. It would have felt good on her wrist five minutes ago - she doubted it would do much good now, but she held her wrist against it anyway to show Subaru a good-faith effort.

He lingered in the doorway, looking as if he wanted to leave but something was stopping him. Miyu waited for him to talk, hoping he wouldn't just storm away without warning.

"You're really stubborn," he said. "And way too nosy."

She kept waiting. Apologizing would probably irritate him.

"You have a few days left of probation," he said abruptly. "Are you going to stay?"

"Of course," Miyu said. Was he hoping she'd leave?

"You can't quit after probation ends. You're locked in. You know that, right? There are penalties if you break the contract."

"Right. I mean, all contract jobs are like that," Miyu said uneasily. "I wouldn't have taken this job if I planned on quitting." She squatted down and ran her hands across the floor, sweeping the feathers around her into a pile. Their conversation might feel less awkward if she was doing something. "Do lots of donors quit?"

"Some of them try to." He kicked a little snowdrift of feathers in front of the threshold. "That's why the regular contracts are only two months."

"Why is mine six months then?"

"You're the last one."

"The last what? Donor?"

"Yeah," he said, kicking the feathers again. They billowed up in a little cloud around his leg.

"But that doesn't make sense. I mean, don't you need blood transfusions indefinitely?" Miyu asked, watching the feathers float back down and noting that they looked exactly like Subaru's hair.

"We're... moving away." He kicked the feathers hard enough to create a miniature snowstorm.

"You mean the facility is closing?" 

"Something like that."

"Where will you go?"

"Home."

"All of you?"

"What'll you do after this?" Subaru asked, his voice suddenly rough.

"After this job ends?" Miyu picked up a feather and twirled it in her hand. "I'll finish university. Then I'll go home, too. Get a job at a good company."

"Tch. Sounds lame." He kicked the feathers again, then looked up. "What do you mean, 'go home'? I thought your parents were... gone."

Ugh. For some reason it felt rotten to lie to Subaru about it, but she had to maintain consistency or Mr. Sakamaki might find out the truth. "I have a brother," she said with forced cheerfulness. "He's kind of obnoxious, but that's how brothers are, right?"

"You can say that again," Subaru muttered.

Miyu felt a flash of hope. Subaru actually agreed with her about something, other than Mr. Sakamaki being a stick-in-the-mud? "You have a brother as well?" she asked, trying hard not to sound casual and not nosy.

Instead of answering, he said, "I thought you said you had a boyfriend, too."

Oh. The other lie. Miyu swallowed. "Yes, but we're - kind of on and off. It's not really a sure thing anymore." 

The last thing she needed was for Subaru to tell the other patients that she had a boyfriend. If word got back to Mr. Sakamaki, she didn't even want to think about how he'd react, considering how adamant he'd been at the job interview about her single status. 

"Just break up then," Subaru said brusquely. "You can't have visitors here anyway."

What a sunny outlook. "Right," she said. "I guess."

Subaru fell silent, and afraid that the conversation would end before she could find out anything else, Miyu stupidly asked the first thing that came to mind. "So, do you have a girlfriend?"

Subaru's whole demeanor changed in a way that Miyu couldn't quite put her finger on. But she knew in a split second that of all the questions she could have asked, it had been the wrong one.

"Sorry, I'm being nosy again, I shouldn't have-"

"I'm going to sleep," he said, and disappeared from the doorway.

Miyu leaped up from the bed and ran out in time to see him stomping off down the corridor. She doubted that anything she said could bring him back, but she couldn't let things end on a sour note. After a moment's hesitation, she called out after him, "Thanks for worrying about me."

He answered without turning around, "Idiot. I'm not worried about you, okay? It's just a bother if you make trouble."

"I'll try to stay out of trouble then."

No answer.

"See you around!"

"Hopefully not." He turned the corner and was gone.

Miyu returned to her bed and held the pickled ginger against her wrist. The bag was cold, but her whole body felt warmer now. What a weird guy, she thought, and the leftover adrenaline from their encounter began to shift into a throbbing undercurrent of vague, inexplicable excitement. 

Her university friend Nanami had dated a real "bad boy" last year (one of many - Nanami rotated boyfriends frequently), and he had caused a stir when he'd walked into one of Nanami's classes and dragged her out by the wrist because she wasn't answering his texts. Nanami had told Miyu about it afterwards, acting affronted while being careful to recount every dramatic detail, and Miyu had acted affronted on Nanami's behalf, but she had secretly been envious. Touma would never have done that. If Miyu had died and rotted away in her garret room, he probably would have just kept texting her forever.

No, she shouldn't be dwelling on Touma. And how ridiculous to even think about Nanami's boyfriend. This was a completely different situation. Still, Miyu found herself imagining which words to use when she'd recount everything to Nanami.

Nanami was always full of juicy stories. Now for once, Miyu would have an exciting tale of her own - the handsome, troubled rebel of a patient who punched a hole in her wall and grabbed her wrist and warned her about other men. And told her to break up with her nonexistent boyfriend. And went all dark and brooding when asked if he had a special someone of his own.

After begging for details (which Miyu would dish out with equal parts feigned reluctance and nonchalance), Nanami would embark on her special brand of pop-psychology analysis that would end with the same inevitable conclusion it always did: that a) Subaru was uncontrollably drawn to Miyu but also b) not nearly good enough for Miyu and therefore c) Miyu would need to bear the cross of his unwanted attentions until d) the truly worthy prospect (Shu?) came along and swept Miyu off her feet, with the added warning that e) the two could even come to blows over her, so she ought to mentally prepare herself.

The rational part of Miyu's brain seriously doubted that Subaru was interested in her like _that_ (though there was a certain thrill in wondering). And she drew a hard line at dating somebody who not only punched walls, but was younger than her. Her next and hopefully last boyfriend would be mature, responsible, gainfully employed (or independently wealthy, she thought wryly), and maybe even know how to cook. Subaru seemed like the type to burn water.

Still, Subaru's tumultuous presence was filling a void previously only filled by TV dramas, and Miyu's imaginary conversation with Nanami kept her occupied as she spent the better part of the morning unpacking her things and organizing her room. She returned all the feathers to the torn pillowcase, wondering if she could mend it well enough that Mr. Sakamaki wouldn't notice. If only she knew when her first room inspection would be.

Her collection of contraband posed a bit of an issue - in addition to her gum, makeup, and pocket knife, she had a few small bottles of hair products - and she finally stashed it all beneath her underwear. Only a pervert would look there. The pepper spray fit nicely into a pouch full of menstrual pads in her messenger bag, and she wondered if Subaru would be pleased to know that she carried it with her, or dismissive like he had been about aikido.

The drawers of the antique desk were disappointingly empty except for one of those ugly, old-fashioned calendars that elderly drugstore owners always seemed to hang on their walls - red and black characters marking solar and lunar dates on a plain white background. Someone (a previous employee?) had circled every full moon until the end of the year in bright red marker. The next one fell on June 4, almost two weeks away. Miyu made a mental note to look up the significance of the lunar cycle in the traditional medicine book. It must be relevant somehow, and she wanted to know in advance rather than be caught off guard by Mr. Sakamaki.

Of course it began raining the moment she was ready to leave her room and explore the grounds, and the rain kept her indoors the rest of the day. It was a mediocre sort of rain that pattered unenthusiastically on the windows and drained every ounce of willpower from her body. Miyu wandered the gloomy halls a bit before eating a noon lunch that included a heap of fresh raw oysters, their bodies cold and milky-colored in the luminous interiors of their craggy shells. She ate such an enormous quantity that she was certain it would stave off anemia for years to come.

Her after-lunch quest for phone reception yielded nothing, and all her attempts to unlock the wi-fi network with obvious passwords failed. She considered sneaking into the music room to try out some Chopin on the revered piano (in defiance of Mr. Sakamaki's ridiculous audition requirement), but it seemed like too big a risk for too little gain. She visited the library and browsed, but felt a perverse aversion to reading anything. At last, after eating a lone dinner and discovering nothing of interest but a rather compelling portrait of Shu in a third-floor alcove, Miyu returned to her room. 

To her despair, Mr. Sakamaki had made good on his threat to disable the bathroom water heater. Even the hottest setting was definitely colder than the water at Shirahama Beach in October. What a heartless jerk. After experimentally extending one leg into the icy spray, Miyu settled for a (still uncomfortably chilly) sponge bath, reasoning that even the finicky Mr. Sakamaki couldn't possibly detect whether she had taken a real shower or not.

But how would she manage washing her hair? He had said no hot water until the end of the week. Did that mean Friday, the end of the typical workweek? Or Saturday? Or (please no) as late as Sunday?

Miyu always washed her hair on Wednesday morning so it would air-dry all day, then again on Saturday morning after deep-conditioning. Even if she could grin and bear the cold water on Wednesday, on Saturday she would need hot water to wash out all the oil and conditioner. She was not about to let Mr. Sakamaki's pettiness derail her sacred deep-conditioning routine.

The solution hit her in a bolt of inspiration. The mansion doubtless had many empty bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms like hers, even though none had been included in the tour. All she needed to do was find one a safe distance away from Mr. Sakamaki’s laboratory and use it in the middle of the afternoon, when the patients were asleep and Mr. Sakamaki was otherwise occupied (she hadn't caught a glimpse of him since their morning acupuncture session). 

With any luck, she might even locate Subaru's room in the process. It would be nice to know where she could find him, rather than wait for him to show up unannounced in her room or carry her there unconscious (how would Nanami react to that, she wondered?).

If only she could contact Nanami, or even Ichiro, or any of her university classmates straddling the line between acquaintance and friend. Too many isolated, dreary days like today would be the death of her.

At least she would see Subaru on Friday for the second transfusion. It was an odd thing to look forward to, she thought - glancing from the dented wall to the torn pillow to her slightly swollen wrist - but the existence of Mr. Sakamaki turned every other human being into a palate cleanser in comparison. Was he already somehow altering her perception of reality?

No, it was just too big on a shock to her system to go from a frenzy of classes and part-time jobs to this strange isolation. She was going temporarily insane, and she would be back to normal soon. She would be in touch with Nanami and Ichiro, and meet the other patients (for good or ill), and get involved in those mysterious "socially enriching activities" that were set to begin at the end of probation.

In the meantime, she just wouldn't think too hard about anything. After a day that was somehow both far too stimulating and far too monotonous, she'd need a good night's sleep if she was going back into battle with Mr. Sakamaki tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know - why isn't our beloved Reiji in this chapter? Because it got way too long and I had to break it up. Which means the next chapter is coming very soon! Hooray! Let me know your thoughts, I've missed you all!


	8. Cornered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be all strategic and withhold this chapter in order to stick to a more consistent update schedule like Responsible Writers do... but I feel like I can't fully devote myself to the next chapter until I post this one. So here you go! Enjoy!

_Why is it that the look of another person looking at you is different from everything else in the Cosmos? That is to say, looking at lions or tigers or Saturn or the Ring Nebula or at an owl or at another person from the side is one thing, but finding yourself looking in the eyes of another person looking at you is something else. And why is it that one can look at a lion or a planet or an owl or at someone's finger as long as one pleases, but looking into the eyes of another person is, if prolonged past a second, a perilous affair? ―_ _Walker Percy,_ _"Lost in the Cosmos: The Last Self-Help Book"_

Miyu had expected to awaken in the wee hours of the morning due to her early bedtime, but she was surprised to find it was almost six o' clock once she pulled open the blackout curtains to let in the gray morning light. She went so far as to crack the window open to let in the cool air. It smelled of summer. If only it would be sunny today, so she could explore the grounds and maybe even venture outside the front gate.

She had an urge to go out and wander the garden in the morning dew like some sort of bohemian nature child, but quickly thought better of it when she considered that Subaru might see her and fly into a rage over her careless curfew violation. It was safer to stay in her room. She indulged her bohemian fantasy in a more constrained way by putting her hair into an elaborate fishtail braid and pinning it over the top of her head - it struck her as rather Heidi-esque. If she wasn't allowed to wear makeup, at least doing her hair nicely would bolster her confidence a bit. She idly examined it in the mirror and wondered if she would run into any of the patients today.

With nothing else to do and half an hour remaining (she really needed to ask about Internet access), Miyu began paging through the book on traditional medicine that Mr. Sakamaki had lent her. As much as she wanted to avoid thinking about him, she ought to look up any information she could find on the Metal Sheep to formulate a strategy for handling him.

She started by checking the index for the Metal Sheep birth years. Since there was no possible way that Mr. Sakamaki could have been born in 1871 or 1931 (although that might explain his ridiculous obsession with manners), apparently his birth year was 1991. That would make him 32 years old. He looked younger than that - if she was honest with herself, he looked closer to 21, her own age - but Miyu supposed he wouldn't be a full-fledged traditional medicine practitioner if he was still in his early 20s.

The information on the Metal Sheep looked correct at first glance, but it seemed to put an unreasonably positive spin on him. Miyu forced herself to read about his strengths first. Although she would prefer not to acknowledge that he had any positive qualities at all, she grudgingly agreed that he did indeed seem intelligent, reliable, tidy, persuasive, and hardworking. She was less convinced that he was a deeply loyal, self-sacrificing, artistically minded animal and nature lover.

When it came to his weaknesses, she wrote down every single one in a neat list - "domineering, jealous, overprotective, insecure, vain, secretly vulnerable, internalizes pain and negative emotions, fearful of criticism, perfectionist, represses true feelings, meddlesome." She was already keenly aware of many of these traits, but several puzzled her.

Mr. Sakamaki was always picking her apart, and seemed like the type to simply ignore others' criticism, so why would he fear it?

He was always telling her exactly what he thought about this and that, with no filter except for his faux politeness - so what was this about repressing true feelings?

And "jealous" didn't seem to fit at all. From what Miyu could tell, Mr. Sakamaki's sense of superiority over others meant he would never feel envious of anyone. Unless the book was referring to jealousy in a romantic sense... but she found even that hard to imagine. He was so self-assured. He probably would hardly even notice another man chasing his woman, or dismiss it as a ridiculously lame attempt to steal what was his. And jealousy would imply that he had the capacity for actual feelings towards other human beings, other than pure disdain.

Miyu mulled over the list of weaknesses for a bit, trying to think of some coherent strategy to employ against him, but nothing came to mind. Perhaps she needed information more tailored to their particular situation. A quick scan of the index revealed that she could look up relationships between different zodiac animals and elements, and she eagerly turned to the section on the Sheep and Horse.

They were listed as not only highly compatible, but so-called secret friends: "a pair of zodiac signs who will offer unfailing support and protection to each other." Miyu had to double-check to ensure the book really was referring to the Sheep and Horse. Based on their interactions thus far, she had expected them to be listed as mortal enemies.

Then again, this only proved how unreasonable Mr. Sakamaki was, she thought grimly. If their personalities were supposed to be compatible, shouldn't they naturally get along in the workplace? How could the man be so insufferable as to single-handedly override their zodiac compatibility? After briefly wallowing in her outrage, she began a careful perusal of the section.

"The Sheep's benevolent nature helps them to overlook the self-centered tendencies of the Horse..."

"The calm and patient Sheep is well-equipped to handle the Horse's negative attitudes and impulsive behavior with loving redirection..."

"The stability and domesticity of the Sheep offers the chaotically wandering Horse a safe haven in a harsh world..."

Miyu wondered if Mr. Sakamaki had somehow edited the book to make the Sheep look better.

"The Sheep may feel the Horse's optimism is misguided, while the Horse may perceive the Sheep as passive-aggressive..."

Interesting. She wrote it down. If a continual barrage of polite optimism would drive Mr. Sakamaki slowly insane, she was all too willing to try it.

"The Horse has an intuitive ability to understand the Sheep's needs..."

Miyu snorted. If a death grip of total control over all things qualified as a need, then yes, she understood Mr. Sakamaki perfectly.

"Both must learn to compromise... mutual desire for adoration... differences drive them together rather than apart..."

Was there nothing negative? No section on how to deal with problems?

"Passionate and intense physical compatibility" - what? - ugh - she skipped the rest of that paragraph, but not before seeing the phrase "the Sheep's powerful sensuality" and shuddering involuntarily.

"Male Sheep in particular must make an effort to be less controlling and possessive, and give Female Horses the independence they need to thrive."

"Yes!" Miyu said out loud. She copied down the sentence verbatim and cited the page number. Maybe someday, somehow, she could find a way to convey this important fact to Mr. Sakamaki. Unfortunately, it was the only brilliant insight of its kind. This was the end of the section.

Perhaps reading about the Metal-Water relationship would yield more helpful results. She flipped through the book until she found it. Of course it started off by calling Metal-Water "an auspicious relationship." She wished she was surprised.

"As both elements are yin in nature, Metal and Water understand each other well. As a natural leader" - make that "dictator," Miyu thought - "Metal takes pleasure in nurturing Water, while Water takes pleasure in the sense of security that Metal provides. These two elements have the strength and compatibility to form a dynasty."

No. No. There would be no dynasty. What was that even supposed to mean?

"The feminine energy of a Water woman makes her particularly well-suited to be the wife of a strong-willed Metal man. The dominating and aggressive nature of Metal people necessitates a subordinate, self-sacrificing spouse."

Miyu cringed, trying not to let her thoughts get anywhere near where the book was headed. Why was this book so obsessed with love compatibility? Shouldn't there be pointers on coexisting in harmony with coworkers or friends or things like that? She closed the book without finishing the paragraph, wishing that she could somehow un-read every word.

And then she cringed even harder as it occurred to her that Mr. Sakamaki must have read all of it already, or some approximation of the same content in other books. He'd had plenty to say about her being a Water Horse, after all. And he'd practically bragged about his association with the Metal element that first night in his office. Did he think they were destined to be some sort of well-balanced dream team - the authoritative Metal Sheep boss who masterfully kept his unruly Water Horse subordinate in line?

She felt the twinge of a sudden, disconcerting thought: had he revealed his element and animal on purpose knowing that she would look up information on him? Was this his twisted way of controlling how she would react to him - by giving her access to a deliberately curated collection of data?

But then how was she to move forward? If she took action based on what she'd read in the book, he would know she was trying to manipulate him. And if she ignored it all and chugged forward obliviously, she might be inadvertently pushing all his buttons, which would doubtless make her life quite unpleasant. There was no way to win.

Should she try to forget about him and focus on herself instead? Build up a consistent persona that never wavered, regardless of his behavior?

But she was accustomed to being a chameleon. And if she reinforced his Yang Water Horse expectations of her, she would only become more predictable to him. If she did the opposite, he would know she was acting against her true personality. And he seemed to hate duplicity more than anything.

Miyu wished that she had asked Subaru more questions about Mr. Sakamaki. Subaru might have been reluctant to share information, but he didn't seem capable of outright lying, and his explosive nature oddly made Miyu feel like she could trust him. Unlike Mr. Sakamaki, whose impeccable self-control was concealing who knew what beneath the surface.

She glanced at the legacy Subaru had left in her room - the dented wall and torn pillowcase (when was she going to mend that?) - before her gaze fell on the alarm clock. It was quarter to seven, almost time for breakfast. She set the book and her handwritten notes aside. If she survived the morning acupuncture session with Mr. Sakamaki, she would head to the library and borrow books on every potentially useful topic she could find - the zodiac, general psychology, "The Art of War," and anything else that might give her a fighting chance against him. That was her self-assigned homework for the day.

She came to the dining area a few minutes early in the hopes of seeing the kitchen staff setting out the meal – any non-Sakamaki face would be welcome, really – but she was greeted with the tall form of Mr. Sakamaki sitting at the already-loaded table, reading a thick book. Although she walked loudly on purpose to make her presence known, he did not acknowledge her until she said good morning to him. He looked tired.

Miyu lacked the courage to immediately employ her strategy of grating optimism, and settled for being as polite and unobtrusive as possible. They ate breakfast in complete silence after she thanked Mr. Sakamaki for the food. He kept glancing over at his book as though he would rather be reading than eating. Upon the conclusion of the meal, he gave her a small earthenware bowl of mud-colored herbal medicine and demonstrated how to heat it indirectly by placing it in a larger bowl of hot water. She had never tasted anything so much like dirt in her life, but Mr. Sakamaki’s unrelenting gaze motivated her to choke it all down quickly. He informed her that from now on, she would be taking a dose of herbal medicine after every meal, and then invited her into the kitchen.

"You are expected to wash your own dishes as a daily practice of personal responsibility," he said. "I originally intended to show you proper dishwashing procedure yesterday, but did not due to the delay in the schedule caused by your late waking. Thus, I will demonstrate for you today."

"Thank you," Miyu said. Maybe if she thanked him for anything and everything, it would put him in an agreeable mood.

"Doubtless you have noticed the lack of visible staff," he said. "This facility was originally designed as a private residence in the 19th century, with a network of separate corridors and staircases to ensure that servants stayed out of sight and out of the way. This kitchen is actually the renovated butler's pantry, which explains its small size. It connects the breakfast room, where you have been dining thus far, with the formal dining room, which is currently off limits."

He motioned to a bed-sized alcove in the wall, lined with narrow shelves. "Over a hundred years ago, the butler used to sleep there to guard the silver cutlery. After all, the difficulty of procuring trustworthy employees is an age-old problem." He cast Miyu a glace that suggested she numbered among the untrustworthy. She schooled her face into the most naive expression she could manage.

"This kitchen is merely for the recreational use of the patients," he continued, opening the refrigerator to reveal a motley assortment of foods. "As you can see, individual ingredients are labeled with their owners' names. You are not to touch or consume food that belongs to the patients."

Miyu peered inside to see pudding cups labeled "Kanato," a package of multicolored pastel macarons labeled "Laito," and a plastic basket overflowing with various small packages, the basket itself labeled "Ayato" in horrible handwriting. Two shelves, labeled "Shu" and "Subaru," were empty. Reiji appeared to be some sort of gourmand, as he had the bottom drawers and the entire door to himself.

On top of Ayato's pile was a bag of red pickled ginger that looked exactly like the one Subaru had given her. Miyu leaned in for a closer look, but Mr. Sakamaki cleared his throat and swung the door shut.

"The functional kitchen, fully staffed and in charge of actual meal preparation, still operates out of its original basement location. These dumbwaiters" - he motioned to two square doors in the wall - "are used for transporting meals up to this level, and dirty dishes and leftover food back down to the basement. Meal dumbwaiter on the right, dirty dish dumbwaiter on the left. Do not confuse them."

He opened the door on the left to reveal an enormous dish rack. "After loading the dumbwaiter, ensure that the doors are closed securely" - he closed them with a rattle - "and press the appropriate button." After he pressed it, a faint clattering emanated from behind the doors. "Do not open the doors while the dumbwaiter is in motion. It could result in serious injury. Also, I should not need to tell you this, but attempting to enter or ride the dumbwaiters is strictly forbidden."

He seemed to want a response. "I understand," Miyu said. She longed to ask whether anyone had attempted to ride the dumbwaiters before, but concluded that it might give him the wrong idea of her intentions.

"I hope for your own sake that you do understand. Let us move on to your dishwashing lesson."

After Miyu ferried all the dishes from table to sink, Mr. Sakamaki began with a lecture on how pure silver cutlery needed to be dried immediately with a non-abrasive cloth to prevent water stains, noting Miyu's negligence to do so the day before. Then he gave her a comically long apron and a pair of rubber gloves. A second lecture commenced, in which he laid out a three-point argument for using a silicone brush instead of a sponge (the main takeaway being that sponges were filthy breeding grounds for bacteria). After a review of the correct order in which to wash the dishes, and a stern reminder of the consequences of carelessness, he stepped back to let Miyu start her task.

Miyu’s mother, who viewed housework into a hard science, had taught her how to wash dishes as a young child. Miyu thus considered herself an experienced hand. But scrubbing with a brush was quite different from scrubbing with a sponge, and Mr. Sakamaki was clearly dissatisfied. He looked on, giving terse directions, gradually inching closer and closer, until at last he gave up and let out a theatrical sigh of disapproval.

“Stop.”

Miyu looked back at him questioningly. He had removed his glove and jacket, and was in the process of rolling up his crisp white shirtsleeves.

“I cannot believe you are incapable of understanding my verbal instructions, and actually require a physical demonstration. This is terribly bothersome.”

If it was so bothersome, he should just leave her to her own devices, Miyu thought. She moved to one side to allow him to stand at the sink, but he took up more space than she’d anticipated, planting himself in the very middle instead of sticking to his own side like a normal, accommodating person would. She was slightly off balance now as she stood just a bit too far from the sink at an awkward angle, stretching to reach the dishes properly without accidentally brushing against him. Couldn’t he tuck his elbows in a bit? She didn’t understand how someone with such a slim profile could suddenly occupy the same amount of real estate as a sumo wrestler.

“Why are you standing all the way over there?” he scolded. “Do not try to escape your duties. I did not say I would perform this task instead of you. I am merely demonstrating.”

She edged a bit closer to him to gain better access to the sink, telling herself that it was no different from standing next to a stranger on the subway. Anytime she rode during rush hour, she was jostled by shoulders and crammed into backpacks. Her face was at armpit level for the sweaty salarymen clinging to the handholds that dangled too far above for her to comfortably reach. Mr. Sakamaki was just a salaryman during rush hour.

Except that he wasn’t sweating. She was. The rubber gloves made it worse.

Mr. Sakamaki took the brush right out of her hand, as well as the dish she was scrubbing. "Look," he said. "You are being terribly inefficient, aimlessly scrubbing back and forth. You need to use brisk, circular motions." He handed her another dish. "Now try again."

As he spoke, she felt his breath on the top of her head and was terribly conscious of the fact that he was a head taller than her. At least it made it easier to avoid eye contact. She took the brush and dish and tried swiping the brush around the edge the way he had, but in the process, she lost her grip, and the dish would have gone crashing into the sink had Mr. Sakamaki not clasped his hand over hers.

"You are truly impossible," he said. "Please make an effort not to destroy these antique dishes."

"I'm sorry." She expected him to let go of her hand, but instead he grabbed the other one as well. Not her hand exactly, but her wrist - the one that Subaru had bruised. She let out an involuntary little gasp of pain, and he let go in an instant.

"Is there a problem?" he asked sharply. "You seem quite jumpy."

"No." She wasn't about to let him know about yesterday's incident. "No, you just startled me-"

Before she could finish, he had taken both her hands again and began controlling her like a puppet, guiding the brush over the dish she was holding. Suddenly she was quite relieved to be wearing gloves. A thin layer of rubber between her and Mr. Sakamaki was better than nothing at all. His hands felt strangely cold even in the hot water.

"Must you be so clumsy?" he asked, steering her hand to set the dish on the drainboard.

"I don't usually wear gloves when I wash dishes," she said, trying to ignore the firm pressure of his fingers on her own. She added, "_You're_ not wearing gloves."

"Gloves are a necessary precaution to protect your skin. Even minor afflictions, such as dry skin caused by dish soap, could have a subtle impact on the quality of your blood."

He thankfully let go of her hands once she moved on to another dish. Miyu wondered how many more it would take before he trusted her to wash them without him hovering at her side. He kept reaching past her to adjust the angle of the brush, which meant she kept having to dodge his elbow lest it catch her in the sternum. Then again, the only way to resolve that would be for him to stand behind her and bring his arms around either side, like those commercials for rice cookers where the newlywed wife in the little apron would be washing dishes, and the husband would come up behind her and-

"You feel quite warm," Mr. Sakamaki commented, breaking her chain of thought. "Is the water temperature too high for you?"

"No, it's all right." If he could tell how warm she was, wasn't that a clear indicator that he should give her more space?

"And what about the water in your ensuite bathroom?"

"Pardon?"

"Is the water heater temperature set correctly, or is it too hot for you?"

Miyu froze. She felt herself walking into a trap. “It's fine.”

“Is that so?” Just from the sound of his voice, she could tell he was smiling. "The water heater is functional?"

The trap had sprung.

“I asked you a question. Is it functional?”

“Oh. Actually, come to think of it... it’s not.” She picked up another dish and began scrubbing it more vigorously than necessary.

“Then why did you just describe it as 'fine'? Shouldn’t it be repaired? Wouldn’t a lack of hot water cause you a fair amount of discomfort if you are maintaining your personal hygiene at the level expected of you?”

He must be aiming to make her admit that she had been awake for his lecture yesterday, and that she knew about her water heater being turned off as punishment. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Has it broken before?” she asked with an innocent air. “Is that why you asked about it just now?”

“Answer my question first. Why did you say that nothing was wrong?”

“I didn’t think of it.” She began to put the soapy dish on the drainboard before realizing she needed to rinse it off first, and quickly moved it under the running water before Mr. Sakamaki could scold her.

“If it is such a small matter that it does not even come to mind when you are asked directly, perhaps repair is unnecessary. For the entire six-month duration of your contract."

Miyu gritted her teeth. “I’d appreciate it if the water heater were repaired.”

“And I would appreciate a bit more honesty on your part. Why bother to lie when you know I am aware of the truth?”

She swallowed. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.” There was nothing left to wash but some serving spoons now. She took her time with each one, wishing there was a mountain of dishes so that he'd leave before she was finished.

“There was a fascinating study conducted at the University of Cambridge that may be of interest to you. Would you like to hear about it?”

Not particularly. “Yes.”

“The researchers explored the well-known phenomenon in which young children cover their eyes with their hands and say, ‘You can’t see me.' Why do you think they do this?”

“Because they can’t see the other people?”

“A common but incorrect assumption. When asked, the children said they knew their heads and bodies were still visible. So why would they say ‘you can’t see me’?”

Miyu waited for him to answer his own question. She was down to the final spoon.

“The researchers hypothesized that children believe there must be eye contact, or a meeting of the gaze, for people to truly see each other. The principle of joint attention – the necessity of a shared experience – applied to the concept of the self.” He let out a quiet laugh. “The eyes are the windows of the soul, after all.”

Miyu began aimlessly rinsing out the sink with the sprayer, as if she were deeply concerned about any crumbs that might be left behind.

“You are aware that I can see through your flimsy pretenses – or, in the parlance of the study, that your head and body are visible. And yet you deny the plain truth and hide your eyes. You’re not even that afraid of me seeing your lies, are you? You’re afraid of me seeing _you_.”

He would never see her, Miyu thought. She wouldn't let him. She would never let anyone see the self nestled deep inside her, like the soft body of a snail, coiling down, down, down in its spiral shell. Snails died without their shells. She would too.

"Shut off the tap," Mr. Sakamaki said abruptly. "You are wasting water and not even cleaning the sink properly."

Miyu shut it off and tried to secure the sprayer back in place. She couldn't align it properly, and she struggled for a moment before Mr. Sakamaki reached over and did it for her.

"Turn around. It is terribly rude to turn your back on your superior and occupy yourself with inane tasks when he is speaking to you."

His voice sounded much clearer and closer now that the water was off. Miyu turned to face him - or rather, to face his shirtfront. He had pulled a towel off its hook and was slowly drying his hands, methodically pulling the towel over each of his long fingers one at a time. There was something hypnotic about his movements, and she watched the tendons in his wrists as they tensed and loosened, and the ridges that appeared and disappeared in the muscles of his forearms.

When he had finished his slow torture of the towel, he handed it to her. "Remove your gloves."

She pulled them off with some difficulty, as the gloves clung to her damp fingers, and then she dried the sweat off her hands. He watched. When she had finished, she made a show of going to replace the towel on its hook - a good pretext for getting away - but he shifted in front of her, blocking her path.

"We are in the middle of a discussion. You ought not walk away while I am speaking to you."

She clutched the towel a bit tighter.

“The results of your personality test indicated you have a near-pathological fear of authority figures," he said, as if relaying an interesting bit of trivia. "Do you know why that is the case?"

Miyu opened her mouth to respond, but he held up one finger to silence her. "Please. That was a rhetorical question. The answer is simple. You are ashamed of yourself."

She began twisting the towel into a wad.

"You are afraid those in authority will find out the truth about you. That you will fail to measure up to their standards. That they will realize you are hopelessly inadequate. That no matter how hard you try…” He let out a short laugh. “They will never truly approve of you. And so you fear them."

He knew. All of it. As if he'd stepped inside her mind. How? The personality test hadn't been that detailed. Miyu felt slightly sick with a kind of irrevocable dread, as if Mr. Sakamaki had read her diary or a private letter that she'd intended for someone else.

No, she told herself, maybe he only thought he knew. Maybe he was only guessing. If she acted like it wasn't true, he would never know for certain.

“That is why you are avoiding my eyes now," he said. "It would be one thing if you kept your eyes lowered out of deference. But I do not believe that is the case. I suspect that while you want to give one impression, you are afraid that your eyes will reveal a different story. Do you realize you have not made eye contact even once over the course of this entire conversation?"

Miyu responded with a token millisecond of eye contact. Except it wasn't eye contact, not really - she just took a fleeting look at the bridge of his nose.

“Emotional disturbances manifest in physical imbalances. Chronic fear has a negative impact on the kidneys in particular. In traditional medicine, the kidneys transform your jing, or vital essence, into blood. Weak kidneys will lead to blood deficiency.” He paused as if to emphasize the weight of his statement. “Now tell me. What is your job here?”

“To provide blood," Miyu said. She had begun ever-so-slightly edging her way backwards.

“Correct. Which means blood deficiency could result in a failure to uphold your end of the contract.”

“It would be unintentional.” Another tiny shuffle backwards.

“Regardless of intention, the results would be the same. Which is why your evasive attitude will need to be addressed." He took a step towards her, erasing all the distance she had gradually been putting between them. "Look me in the eye.”

Miyu dared to glance at him, but it was like touching a hot stove and she could not sustain it.

Amusement crept into his voice as he said, “That was a rather... prematurely truncated attempt. Three - no, four seconds will suffice.”

Miyu stared at his Adam’s apple and counted four seconds in her head. It wasn’t so long. She could do it. She looked up to meet his waiting eyes. Their mutual gaze clicked into place, and she stared at him, determined to show no weakness.

One. The first count of four seconds pounded in her head like a languorously slow drum.

Two. The world shrank down into the space between them. He blinked, and so did she.

Three. His eyes were fixed on hers, burning, threatening to illuminate her insides.

Four. His pupils were dilated. She saw something quicken and come alive inside him.

She tore her eyes away and settled on something safe - the clean dishes glistening wet on the drainboard.

Mr. Sakamaki was silent for a moment before saying, “It is good to grow accustomed to one’s fears, don’t you think? Next time, five or six seconds may be possible.”

Next time, Miyu thought, she would stare him down until he was the one forced to break eye contact.

“Do not be mistaken,” he said. “Fear itself is not the issue. You are right to fear me as your superior, and it pleases me to see that you have a sense of self-preservation. But your deceit and insubordination amplify your fear to an excessive degree. And on that note, I suppose we must come to the heart of the issue.”

He reached out and pulled the dishtowel out of her hands, setting it beside him on the counter. "You do not want to admit the truth about the water heater because it would mean admitting that you were awake when I spoke to you yesterday. You are ashamed to acknowledge that you feigned sleep in my presence. And to acknowledge that, in an effort to maintain your facade, you gave me permission to do this.”

He stepped towards her and stroked the top of her head like one might do to a pet. She was startled enough to lurch backwards, only to find that she had backed up all the way into the counter. He took a half-step closer.

“You know in an intellectual sense that I am your superior," he said, running his hand lightly over her pinned-up braid. "If someone asked, you would respond correctly. But you have not embodied this knowledge. You are in denial. So I must speak to you physically."

He stopped touching her head but remained close enough to keep her from leaving. Miyu forced herself to stand still, her eyes downcast, the edge of the counter digging into the small of her back. She was seized with a sudden, irrational worry that someone might walk into the kitchen and see them like this, and misunderstand.

“Although custom and courtesy is important, someone as unrefined as you requires something more plain," he said. Perhaps it was because they were mere inches away from each other, but he was speaking softly now. "You need the language of instinct and gesture. Something that speaks to the part of you that lies beneath the surface.”

He bent down to the level of her ear and whispered, "I hope you are not so conceited as to think that your hair is somehow special, or that I take anything but a superficial professional interest in it. I am being forced to resort to physical contact as the only form of communication that seems to resonate with you. Had you demonstrated a more cooperative attitude from the start, it would not be necessary."

When he stepped away, Miyu realized she had been holding her breath. He strode to the table and picked up the book he had been reading before the meal. "It occurred to me that you may absorb material better when read than spoken," he said, flipping the book open to a bookmarked page. "Please take a seat and read this."

Miyu smoothed down her hair with shaking hands - he hadn't mussed it up, but she wanted to erase his touch with her own - and came to sit down in the chair he had pulled out. He laid the book in front of her on the table and hovered just behind her, out of sight, in a manner that was uncomfortably reminiscent of that first evening in his office.

"Read the third paragraph."

She looked at the page and did a double-take - he actually wanted her to read that?

"Well?"

Apparently he did. She swallowed and began, trying not to let the words register in her brain. “Long, lustrous hair connotes female readiness for procreation-"

“Not that part," Mr. Sakamaki said quickly, slamming his hand down on the book so hard that Miyu nearly jumped out of her chair. Carefully covering the section she had begun reading, he pointed to a spot lower down on the page. "The third paragraph. Are you incapable of counting to three?"

Miyu started again. "Touching the top of the head or ruffling the hair, a gesture most commonly made by adults towards children, simultaneously demonstrates a hierarchical relationship of dominance, and a bond of trust or responsibility. In accepting this vulnerable position, the weaker party sends a signal to the stronger party that one submits to their authority while trusting them to do no harm. The weaker party may respond to the touch by tilting the head to the side, a submissive gesture that displays the vulnerable carotid artery on the side of the neck, while also indicating that the weaker party is actively listening to any verbal cues from the stronger party. See also: bowing the head, removal of headgear as a sign of respect, religious headcovering practices-"

"That is enough. Is it clear to you now, or was the terminology too difficult for you?"

Miyu's stomach was churning. She remained stubbornly silent before saying in a quiet voice, "I think it's possible to convey authority without physical contact."

Mr. Sakamaki sighed. "Your disregard for authority is evident when you respond in this way. I suppose it will take some time to correct your attitude. In the meantime, if you require an outlet for your childish expressions of rebellion, feel free to file a complaint with Human Resources."

She found it hard to believe that he would suggest such a thing. Was it a setup? "How does that work?" she asked cautiously.

"Complaints and requests may be submitted via the facility intranet."

"Is that the Sakamaki wi-fi network?" she asked, twisting around in her chair. She felt marginally safer being able to see him, even if she kept avoiding his eyes. "I was meaning to ask about the password."

"The password changes on a weekly basis for cybersecurity reasons. I will provide it to you later. It is a waste of my time to memorize gibberish." He reached over her shoulder to pick up the book, closing it with an air of finality. "You have a dedicated email account with a list of relevant contacts, including the official Human Resources email address. Please be aware that all electronic communication will be subject to monitoring. Messages that disclose sensitive information to outside parties - in violation of your contract - will be filtered or blocked."

"Wait, does that mean someone will read my emails?"

"I reserve the right to read them and redact sensitive portions before releasing them from the outbox. This was stipulated in the contract."

Lots of workplace email accounts came with restrictions, Miyu thought. She would just use her webmail, and avoid using the facility account at all.

"What about Internet?" she asked. She tried to push her chair away from the table so that she could stand up and converse at Mr. Sakamaki's level, but he was resting his hands on the back, and it did not budge. 

"Internet access will be available between the hours of ten and eleven o' clock in the morning on a daily basis. Prolonged screen time could be harmful to the quality of your blood," he continued. "Content will be heavily filtered, unapproved websites will be blocked, and your browsing activity will be monitored."

"Why would it be monitored?"

"Why not? Unless you plan to search for inappropriate material." Mr. Sakamaki glared down at her. "The viewing or possession of inappropriate material will not be tolerated. If you so much as attempt to download-"

"I wouldn't search for anything weird," Miyu said hastily. "It just seems odd that there's no privacy, and-"

"Are you finished interrupting me? Or shall I wait longer for you to express all your thoughts?"

Miyu swallowed back all the things she wanted to say. "I'm sorry."

"Something needs to be done about that lack of manners," he murmured, as if to himself. Then he cleared his throat.

"If you wish to enjoy privacy in your pursuit of knowledge, I recommend that you make use of the library, which I showed you in the tour yesterday. You may avail yourself of any books you like, provided that you return them in pristine condition. Any damages will be deducted from your compensation package."

"Are there any libraries in town?" Miyu asked. At least a public library would have Internet access.

"None nearby. The 'town' you speak of is little more than a smattering of rural residences. Besides, as you should be aware, you must receive approval before leaving the facility grounds for any reason. Depending on your behavior and adherence - or lack thereof - to the facility rules, I may revoke the privilege for a set period of time."

He could revoke her privilege to leave the grounds? How was that even considered a privilege, and not a basic right? Had that been in the contract? Miyu tried to stave off a swell of panic.

"What about phone reception?" she asked, trying to sound curious rather than desperate. Maybe she could access the Internet on her phone data plan... but she had a sudden, horrifying hunch that the lack of phone reception was not a mere side effect of lead pipes in the walls after all.

"Due to the remote location of the facility, mobile phone reception and data accessibility is not available. Should you require the use of a phone, please notify me and I will grant you access to the landline. Of course, calls are subject to monitoring and limited according to my discretion."

"But what if there's a fire?" she asked, grasping at straws. "There has to be a way to call the fire department."

"I believe I showed you the locations of the fire alarms during your in-depth personal tour of this facility. If you activate the fire alarm, there is no need to call emergency services."

"But what if someone has a heart attack or something, and we need to call an ambulance?"

"Should you be unable to locate me, and therefore unable to use the landline... activating the fire alarm would be an acceptable alternative. However, I can assure you that there will be no need. The only resident of this facility in danger of a heart attack seems to be you, considering your tendency towards hysterics."

Miyu reviewed it all in her head. Censored emails. Monitored Internet usage. No mobile phone reception or free access to a landline. Approval required before leaving the grounds - approval which could apparently be revoked for whatever Mr. Sakamaki defined as bad behavior. Miyu suspected that Mr. Sakamaki would sooner canonize her as a saint than he would acknowledge her behavior as "good." He might refuse to let her leave the grounds simply out of spite.

Surely at least one of these restrictions qualified as a violation of worker rights. Maybe these rules existed for the benefit of the patients due to their "mental instability," but how could she, a perfectly normal employee, be subject to the same harsh restrictions? She really should raise these issues to Human Resources.

Then again...

"If I submit a message to Human Resources," Miyu said, hardly daring to ask at all, "who will handle it? One of the staff members?"

"The patient advocate handles all such correspondence." Mr. Sakamaki smiled down at her. "That would be me."

The last door had slammed shut in Miyu's face.

Mr. Sakamaki went and retrieved his jacket and glove from the kitchen, carefully buttoning his sleeves and returning to his usual immaculate self.

"Put the clean dishes in the correct dumbwaiter," he said. "Our session starts in" - he pulled out a gold pocket watch - "exactly eleven minutes, so do not be late."

He began to step out the doorway into the corridor, but turned around before leaving.

"One more thing," he said. "Regardless of motivation - whether it be your fear of authority or your pernicious rebellious streak - the next time you lie to me, or prevaricate, or feign ignorance of the truth, or engage in any other form of deliberate deception... I will discipline you in a way that you will find most unpleasant. From now on, you will be honest with me or face the consequences. Do you understand?"

His voice was like ice. Miyu nodded, feeling strangely numb. "I understand."

She sat at the table for several minutes after Mr. Sakamaki had gone. She thought about Subaru's bitter laughter and his tight grip on her wrist, and her room full of feathers, and Mr. Sakamaki with his sleeves rolled up, his large hands folded over hers as she washed the dishes. She thought of the little pricks of the acupuncture needles, and Subaru pounding on her door at night, and her blood crawling up the transfusion tube.

Subaru's warnings. "The guys are up at night." "They might not follow the rules." "You're the only girl here."

What the book had said about the Metal Sheep. "Intelligent." "Domineering." "Metal takes pleasure in nurturing Water."

Mr. Sakamaki's comments about how the Yang Water Horse needed limitations and restraint. The low tone of his voice from behind her as he'd unbraided her hair. His promise to be gentle before inserting the acupuncture needles. The way he always pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and looked at her as if he could see straight through her.

What he had said at the end of the job interview. "Thank you for your unquestioning cooperation."

What he had said during the acupuncture session. "I want someone who will obey me and only me."

What he had said just now. "From now on, you will be honest with me or face the consequences."

The walls of the facility were transforming into a maze around Miyu. She was a lab rat, and Mr. Sakamaki had already begun conditioning her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miyu is finally going to meet another brother in the next chapter. I'm curious who you all think it will be.


	9. Striving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: it was my goal to pump out the next four partially finished chapters before having my baby. Well, here's the first one! I've been having labor pains off and on since yesterday, so we'll see what comes out first, the baby or Chapter 10 (maybe even 11 and 12 if the baby comes late haha!). I've missed you all!

_To be a human being means to possess a feeling of inferiority which constantly presses towards its own conquest. The greater the feeling of inferiority that has been experienced, the more powerful is the urge for conquest and the more violent the emotional agitation. - Alfred Adler_

Miyu mechanically transferred the clean dishes to the dumbwaiter one by one. Everything she had eaten for breakfast weighed heavy in her stomach.

Was it really possible for Mr. Sakamaki to monitor communication and cut her off from the outside world to that extent? He had a way of making everything seem more ominous and threatening than it really was, so surely he was exaggerating the regulations just to intimidate her. Wasn't that was his specialty? He just needed to feel power over someone else, like the guards in prison movies.

She wasn't in an actual prison, so she shouldn't overreact. Besides, she had read an article recently about pensioners who committed minor crimes to go to jail on purpose, since they would be better off there than living in poverty. Three meals a day, medical care, and no bills to pay. This was the same thing, but better. She was taking on a six-month sentence in exchange for a five-figure compensation package.

There was no way that six months of Mr. Sakamaki's pettiness could outweigh the dazzling future of parental approval that lay ahead of her: tuition paid, life under control, the best opportunity she'd ever had to outshine Ichiro and be a success. And wasn't she was better off working here than in slaving away in a dangerous factory, or waitressing at a sleazy establishment like some of her university friends, or working the night shift at some depressing convenience store largely patronized by drunks? She was receiving excellent (albeit awkward) medical care. The food was incredible. And the grounds were much nicer than the narrow, treeless streets in her old neighborhood.

All she had to do was find a way to handle Mr. Sakamaki, and that was only a matter of time; she hadn't even been here a week - it was too soon to despair. Every human being had a weakness. She would observe him over the coming days, test his reactions to her behavior, and eventually stumble upon the winning formula.

Perhaps she had shrunk away from him too much. She had seen a nature documentary about bears once, and the narrator had stated matter-of-factly that when encountering a bear, one must make oneself look bigger - opening one's jacket, slowly waving one's arms, holding a large stick, and so on. One must slowly back away if possible, but never run, as that would trigger the bear's instinct to chase.

She had been acting too small, and it must have spurred Mr. Sakamaki on. No more.

"I will be bigger," she said out loud, closing the door to the dumbwaiter and hearing it rattle its way down the chute. "I will be bigger than he is."

She thought of the four long seconds when Mr. Sakamaki had held her gaze - the sharpness and aliveness of his eyes behind his glasses.

"I will be bigger," she said again, as the dumbwaiter's reverberation faded away. Her voice sounded both too quiet and too loud in the empty kitchen.

The thought of going to the laboratory and submitting to Mr. Sakamaki's acupuncture was unappealing, but imagining the look on his face if she was so much as thirty seconds late propelled her down the corridor despite her reluctance. In front of his door, she pulled out the folded piece of paper from her skirt pocket and reviewed the negative traits of the Metal Sheep, telling herself to be strong. At last she knocked. Upon hearing an affirmative noise from within, she opened the door and crossed the threshold into Mr. Sakamaki's domain.

He was sitting at his desk with three separate books open, apparently cross-referencing something. Laid out in the very front was a slip of paper with the facility wi-fi network name and password written on it. The clothes that Miyu had worn the day before were folded neatly and placed on her chair. Her hairstick was notably absent. 

Miyu approached the desk like a timid worshiper before an altar, prepared at any moment to be struck down by the wrath of the resident god.

“You left that skirt and blouse here yesterday,” Mr. Sakamaki said without looking up, inserting a bookmark in each book before closing them one by one. “It is quite rude to expect others to pick up garments left strewn about. Not to mention inappropriate.”

Miyu managed to smile. “I’m sorry, I forgot them. Thank you.”

He looked up at her. She wished he hadn't. “That skirt you wore is three, possibly four centimeters shorter than the dress code dictates. I do not want to see you wearing it again.”

He’d _measured_ it?

She should be straightforward and explain her thinking, so he'd know she hadn't broken the rules on purpose. “I thought the regulations were about relative length, like how high above the knee-”

“They are. Based on the length of your legs, which I estimate to be approximately sixty-five centimeters – or forty-three percent of your total height as measured at your physical – this skirt is unacceptably short.”

She didn’t want to know how he'd come to the conclusion that her legs were sixty-five centimeters long. However, he seemed to think that she would like to know.

“Average leg length is approximately forty-five percent of total height, but you appear to have a slightly long torso, so I subtracted two centimeters.”

“The skirt is shorter or longer depending on where it sits on my waist,” Miyu said, insistent on justifying herself. “I wasn’t wearing it at my natural waist, so-”

“Do you have an objection to the accuracy of my methods? For greater precision, I could instead measure the exact length of your legs, and then re-confirm my prior measurements while you wear the skirt.”

How was it that whenever she responded to him, she managed to make things worse? “That’s not necessary. I probably measured the skirt wrong." Maybe she should throw in some breezy self-deprecation. "I'm not very good with numbers.”

“I’m pleased to hear that your breach of the dress code was merely the result of incompetence, rather than a disregard for the rules. I was concerned that you may have neglected to measure your garments at all.”

“Thank you for letting me know it wasn't within code,” Miyu said in a lackluster voice, feeling smaller than ever. It might be easier to deal with an actual bear.

Just like the previous day, Mr. Sakamaki checked her pulse and tongue, and Miyu changed into silk scrubs and lay down on the table. He inspected the previously needled sites for bruising (there was none). She was relieved that he was only inserting needles on the right side, or he would have discovered her bruised left wrist.

“I suppose you will require some form of distraction again today," he said, fingers gliding over the tray as he selected the first needle.

"It's all right," she said, trying to sound more casual than meek. "I don't need to talk." 

"If I do not distract you, I expect you will tense up again every time I insert a needle. You may select a topic to discuss."

Conversation would only give her the opportunity to make mistakes, and provide him with more ammunition against her. She needed to minimize their interactions as much as possible. "It's really all right. I'll just ignore the needles."

"I ask you to do something this simple - choose a topic to discuss - and you tell me no. Not even half an hour has elapsed since we discussed your poor attitude, and now this?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"And when I take note of your defiance, you insist that it was unintentional. Which only confirms my suspicions that your rebellious tendencies are so deeply rooted, you yourself are hardly aware of them." He sighed and added, "You clearly need a firm hand. Consider yourself fortunate that I am willing to patiently point out these shortcomings and enable you to improve."

Miyu did not feel fortunate, and something about the phrase "need a firm hand" turned her stomach.

"Now let us try again," he said. "As I said earlier, you may select a topic to discuss. What would an appropriate response be?"

A blank white curtain descended in Miyu's brain, blocking all its contents from her view. She couldn't remember what she had ever talked about with anyone in her life. How did people even make conversation? Small talk? Some people talked about the weather. She suspected that Mr. Sakamaki would not consider the weather a suitable topic.

"I did not expect my simple question to prove so... taxing. At this rate, I may need to prescribe additional herbs just to bring your mental acuity up to a normal level. Strange, considering that a Water Horse should possess a degree of intellectual quickness."

Water Horse. She was saved - there was something to discuss after all. "I was hoping you could tell me more about the zodiac," Miyu said. "I'd like to learn about the other signs and animals. It's all very fascinating."

He raised an eyebrow in response. "What a ridiculously broad question. I take it that you have hardly glanced at the book I lent you on the topic."

"I meant to ask... what zodiac signs are the patients?" she said. "What elements and..." He was looking even less pleased now, and she faltered. "What animals are they?"

"I do not know how many times I must remind you that in-depth knowledge of the patients is hardly appropriate considering your position. However, for the sake of distracting you adequately, I will indulge your ill-advised curiosity."

He punctuated his last statement with a needle insertion before lapsing into silence.

"Which zodiac animal is Shu?" Miyu asked finally, and then remembered Subaru's warning that Mr. Sakamaki hated Shu. She wished she could retract her question.

"The lazy good-for-nothing is a Horse, like yourself. He exemplifies every negative Horse trait and then some. Lack of responsibility, no sense of long-term perseverance, a dearth of duty towards family and the larger social world... Little foresight. Astonishing vanity. An unfortunate tendency to ignore the advice and opinions of others, leading to poor choices based solely on his own limited judgment."

Trying to ignore the fact that Mr. Sakamaki was applying all of these traits to her as well, Miyu began to process each tidbit in a more positive light. Shu sounded like a free spirit and an independent thinker. Just like her, of course. And what a lovely coincidence - there was only a one in twelve chance of being the same zodiac animal as someone, and she was the same as Shu?

No, it wasn't that special - if she recalled correctly, he was in the same year of school as her. "He's in his third year of university, right?"

"Considering his abysmal work ethic, it is remarkable that he is still acquiring an education at all. It is only because he is from a noteworthy family that he is permitted to attend. Although he brings endless shame to the family name with his lackadaisical behavior."

Was Shu some kind of conglomerate prince like she'd seen in TV dramas? Miyu had seen the same archetype over and over - a spoiled heir with a good heart, whose elite family left him starved of love and drifting in a listless funk. He would then rediscover all his motivation and zest for life in the arms of a Cinderella-like girl, who personified all the human warmth that his blood relations lacked.

"A noteworthy family?" she asked cautiously, her head awash with images of aloof newspaper-reading CEOs and Gucci-clad matriarchs.

"His father is an illustrious politician and philanthropist, and doubtless the greatest mind of his time. That sloth could not be any more different from his father. Such a disappointment."

Maybe, Miyu thought, Shu was just crushed by family expectations, like her.

"He's probably under a lot of pressure," she said, watching Mr. Sakamaki place a needle just below her knee.

"Pressure reveals what one is made of. Heat and pressure transform pure carbon into diamonds, while impure carbon turns to coal."

"I suppose not everyone can be a diamond," Miyu said, mentally assigning Mr. Sakamaki to a decidedly non-diamond category. "At least coal is useful."

"You make a fair point. He does not merit the description. Were I to assess him in geological terms, he would doubtless be categorized as some type of sedimentary rock, as he cannot withstand pressure the way an igneous or metamorphic rock could. However, I cannot think of any geological specimen that matches his uselessness. Perhaps he would best be characterized as thulium, arguably the most useless natural element on the periodic table."

"Maybe I would be coal," Miyu suggested, throwing herself down as a sacrificial lamb in Shu's place.

"Perhaps," Mr. Sakamaki said gravely, as if he were granting her some coveted title. "Black is indeed the color of the Water element. At least you realize that you are potentially useful. Your current state may be analagous to lignite or sub-bituminous coal, which of course ought to be refined prior to use, so as to reduce harmful emissions during combustion."

"On second thought, maybe I'd rather be another sort of rock," Miyu said. "I would hate to get burned up in a fire. What a terrible way to die."

Mr. Sakamaki's ever-steady hand slipped, sinking a poised needle deep into Miyu's ankle. She squealed in pain and propped herself up on one elbow, trying to see. He retracted it immediately. A dark bead of blood welled up at the site, then another.

Miyu reached for her ankle instinctively, but he batted her hand away. "Leave it."

He looked shaken. She watched him pull out a disinfecting wipe and dab the spot haphazardly, lips pursed.

She had never seen him make a mistake before. Was coal a bad topic? She should say something to break the silence and defuse his embarrassment. 

"As a Horse, Shu-"

"It is a waste of time to speak further of him," Mr. Sakamaki snapped. "Your display of excessive interest is concerning."

She needed to be more careful. "Oh, I was just curious since Shu is a Horse like me," she said quickly. "It seems like we'd have a lot in common."

"If you had properly read the book I lent you, you would realize that it is not only the year of one's birth, but the month, day, and time that matter as well. Otherwise everyone born in a given year would possess the exact same personality. Not to mention that zodiac traits manifest differently in men and women." He picked up a fresh needle to insert, and Miyu winced in anticipation of another untimely puncture wound.

"Besides," he continued, "if you were anything more like that good-for-nothing, I doubt that you could have been hired at all. Drawing parallels between the two of you will not reflect well on your character. Now lie back down. Your chi cannot be channeled properly in that unbalanced position."

She lay down. How could she finagle him into a better mood? "What animals are the other patients?"

"Reiji is a Sheep. The triplets are Monkeys. Subaru is a Rooster."

"I see." She began putting them in order in her head. "But how are Shu and Reiji a different zodiac animal if they're in the same year of university?"

"The Horse and the Sheep are indeed one year apart in the sexagenary cycle. As for why they are in the same class... in some cases, students are held back in school, or advanced to the next class, depending on their performance."

Since Shu was a Horse and in the correct year, he obviously hadn't been held back, so Reiji must have been pushed up. "Reiji must be very smart," Miyu said. "Since he's a year ahead in school."

Mr. Sakamaki smiled. "He is the most intelligent of the patients by far, and the most industrious as well. Not to mention the only one with a sense of proper manners."

Remembering how oddly Mr. Sakamaki had acted when Subaru offered to tell her about Reiji, Miyu pushed further. "You said before that he was a gentleman," she volunteered. "I know I shouldn't meet the other patients yet, but wouldn't it be all right to meet Reiji? He sounds like..." An important ally who might be able to shield her from Mr. Sakamaki. "A good influence."

"He is an excellent influence, and I believe that in the future, he will prove to be quite impactful in modifying your behavior for the better. However, he is far too busy to concern himself with fulfilling your needs for socialization at the present time."

"I see." She comforted herself with the thought that if Mr. Sakamaki was so fond of him, Reiji would probably turn out to be an insufferable person anyway. Birds of a feather and all that.

Mr. Sakamaki checked her pulse. Miyu glanced at her arm and leg and realized that he had inserted quite a few needles. Their discussion might be cut short at any moment if he was finished.

"Allow me to reiterate what I told you upon your arrival, as you appear to have difficulty retaining information," he said, pressing her second and third pulse locations. "If you encounter a patient, you are to immediately request that they bring you to me for a formal introduction. The good-for-nothing is bound to be asleep, so you should request his prompt removal."

"I understand," she said.

"Do you actually understand? You did nothing when Subaru came to your room."

"I think that before, you only said I needed a formal introduction for the others. You said I probably wouldn't meet Subaru at all." Oh dear, that probably sounded confrontational, or like she was rubbing it in his face that he had been wrong.

Before she could add anything to soften the blow, Mr. Sakamaki laughed, which was more ominous than reassuring. "Perhaps your memory is not as faulty as I thought," he said. "How encouraging. It will be less tiresome to train you if you have at least a limited capacity for remembering detail."

He placed the warm compress over her midsection and cranked the infrared lamp into position. He must be leaving in a moment. Could she squeeze in any more questions now that he seemed less peeved?

"Why is my contract six months long?" she asked. It came out less offhanded than she'd hoped.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Subaru said the other donors' contracts were only two months."

Mr. Sakamaki sighed. "I will explain via a simple coconut metaphor, which even you must be capable of comprehending. Let us suppose that you own a coconut palm. Obviously this is a ridiculous hypothetical, seeing as you are unlikely to ever become a landowner in a climate appropriate for coconut cultivation. However, let us assume it for the sake of the metaphor. When would you harvest the coconuts from the tree?"

"When they're ripe."

"And what qualifies as ripe? A young, green coconut full of coconut water? Or a mature brown coconut with very little water and a thick layer of flesh?"

"I suppose it would depend on whether I wanted to drink the coconut water, or eat the flesh."

"Exactly. The length of time until ripeness - the very definition of maturity - depends upon which product you wish to consume. Does this answer your question?"

It was rather disconcerting to be compared to a coconut. "But didn't the other donors provide blood, just like me? What's the difference? And..." She knew she shouldn't ask, but she couldn't repress it any longer. "Why am I the last donor?"

Something dark passed over Mr. Sakamaki's face. "Subaru told you that as well?"

She nodded.

He took a moment before answering. "You are not merely providing blood," he said slowly. "You are providing enhanced blood, thanks to the acupuncture and extremely costly herbal medicine I am providing for you. As to why you are the last donor, that relates to the personal medical information of the patients and cannot be divulged. It appears that I ought to have a word with Subaru about his inappropriate level of disclosure."

He said it with a finality that implied the conversation was over. Miyu held her tongue as he retreated back to his desk.

She stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts turned from Subaru to Shu, and then to the long parade of boys who had come before - the boys she had admired from afar in school, and usually never got up the courage to speak to. All of them had shone like stars in her life - sometimes for a few months, sometimes for a few years - always a single light bright and high and unattainable, something to aspire to. Someone to become worthy of. The singular, ever-changing Him. She had thought of the current him whenever she tried out diets, or went shopping for clothes, or did her hair a different way. He gave her something to hope for. Perhaps the class seating arrangement would be changed and she would sit closer to him - maybe he would be on her team for the sports festival - she might run into him waiting at a traffic light on the walk home.

There was Kaito in elementary school, always roughhousing with the other boys. She'd had a dream that they got married, but never told him of course. There was Itsuki in junior high with his lanky calf-like physique, and there was Asahi in high school, whom she once saw smoking on the roof and he saw that she saw, and winked at her. And then the dashing Miko and quirky Haruto in university, before she'd met Touma and sunk into that strange one-year interlude of owning and being owned. Touma was less of a star and more of a streetlamp with a utility ladder attached. It was good to be realistic, she had thought, but as it turned out, stars were less apt to disappoint. Stars remained safely out of one's way, whereas walking headlong into a streetlamp was painful and humiliating.

With no Touma, she needed a new source of illumination. Shu seemed unattainable enough to inspire her, but if he was suffering from this unknown disease, and narcoleptic on top of that - maybe, just maybe, it was a big enough flaw that other girls (girls from noteworthy families, probably all snobs) wouldn't want him. Maybe she would be the one girl who saw past it all and really understood him.

"You're different from all those other girls," he would say one day (or moonlit night?), after surprising her with a gesture of his long-concealed affections. "You're the only one who cares about who I really am."

Miyu's daydreams had put her in a better mood by the time Mr. Sakamaki returned to check on her. He asked her how she felt and jotted more things down in his little black notebook before methodically removing all the needles. When she emerged from behind the screen after changing back into her own clothes (tugging the skirt down as far as possible just to be safe), he was sitting at his desk again, now with five books open. She approached him with the light steps of a prisoner about to be freed.

“Is the session over?”

“Yes,” he said, not looking up. “You may go.”

She was surprised that he didn’t have a lineup of instructions for her to follow. He just wanted her to leave?

“All right.” It felt suspiciously abrupt. “Thank you.” She bowed and started for the door before remembering what she’d been meaning to ask him.

“Do you have my hairstick, by any chance?” She knew he had it, but it sounded more polite to ask.

“Yes. It is being cleaned,” he replied, not looking up from his array of books. “Did you never clean it? It was coated with all manner of organic and inorganic residue.”

Miyu had never heard of anyone cleaning their hairsticks. She was positive that the only way he could have detected any so-called residue was by using a microscope.

“So… how long will it take to clean it?”

“What an ungrateful attitude to take when I am doing you a favor.” He took an as-yet unopened book from the towering stack next to him and began to page through it. “I am quite busy, and the cleaning process involves several discrete steps. Are you that impatient? Do you have no other hair implements you could make use of in the meantime? It seems that you put your hair up this morning without requiring that particular hairstick. Shouldn’t you be a bit more flexible?”

“Thank you for cleaning it. I’m sorry to take up so much of your time-”

“If you are sorry, you ought to show it. You are excused. I have a great deal to do, and I am trying to concentrate, but you make it impossible." He rose and marched over to the counter, where he began lining up several large glass beakers.

Why should he complain to her about how busy he was? Maybe he shouldn’t take it upon himself to clean other people’s hairsticks if his workload was overwhelming. Miyu hoped her hairstick would still be recognizable when he returned it to her, as she had a hunch that Mr. Sakamaki’s idea of cleaning entailed the use of highly caustic chemicals. She considered asking him to be careful with it - it was a gift from her mother, after all - but he would probably take offense if she implied that he was anything less than an expert at everything.

"I realize you're busy," she said tartly. "I'll go now."

"You are dismissed." He remained focused on the beakers. "Remember that lunch is at twelve o' clock. Tardiness will not be tolerated. I would prefer to see a more positive attitude from you going forward."

"I understand," she said. He still didn’t seem to be looking at her, but she bowed anyway before making a hasty exit. Did his remark about tardiness mean he intended to eat lunch with her, unlike the previous day? She'd had quite enough of him for one day already, and would prefer to dine alone with her thoughts.

After returning to her room and indulging in a few more daydreams, Miyu used her laptop to log onto the Sakamaki wi-fi network at precisely ten o' clock, only to be faced with a complex registration process that took the better part of forty minutes and involved tediously inputting mundane personal information that she was quite sure Mr. Sakamaki had already acquired prior to her interview. Her official email account, with a slow and horribly designed interface reminiscent of the late 90s, already contained a condescending welcome email from Mr. Sakamaki. The attached files (facility guidelines and floor plan) were either so outdated or such an obscure file type that her computer was incapable of opening them.

Bearing in mind that Internet searches would be monitored, Miyu searched for the most innocuous thing she could think of - "yang water horse" - and waited. The search page took a full twenty seconds to load - was the Internet throttled? - and finally produced a dialogue box that her requested search would be completed following administrator approval of the keywords. Attempts to load any other webpages, including her webmail, met with the same result. And then at eleven o' clock the Internet connection cut off entirely.

She tempered her despair with the thought that she would have the full hour of Internet access tomorrow, since the registration process was presumably over. It seemed that whoever was in charge of the facility intranet was not particularly tech-savvy, or at least not particularly up to date. Perhaps she could eventually find a way around the restrictions.

If only she had half of Ichiro's computer skills. He would waltz in and speak to the soul of the computer, or whatever voodoo it was that he did, and grant her instant access to whatever she needed. The worst part was that he'd act happy to do it, but make her feel stupid in a subtle way. And she wouldn't be able to say anything because of course she should be grateful that he did her a favor, and her parents would say Miyu, be nicer to your brother, he's helping you out. And he would explain every little detail of how he fixed it in his annoying way, just to emphasize that she didn't know what he was talking about - and he would explain in these short little sentences that kept getting broken off because he would keep adding parenthetical comments ("you know - because of the underlying - well I should have said from the start...") and it was maddening.

She felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn't replied to Ichiro's last email - the one he had sent weeks ago - and now she wasn't sure when she could. If Mr. Sakamaki really was monitoring her emails, any communication with Ichiro would lead to Mr. Sakamaki immediately finding out that her parents were not, in fact, deceased. She wasn't sure how he would react to a lie of that magnitude, but it was safe to assume that her job itself could be jeopardized.

Contacting Nanami would be less risky in that regard, and she had a good excuse, having entrusted several boxes of her things to Nanami's temporary care. But she cringed at the thought of Mr. Sakamaki reading an enthusiastic email full of references to Nanami's chaotic love life and Miyu's past crushes. Nanami would surely ask Miyu if there were any "men of interest" at the facility. Ugh. Perhaps she could write Nanami a real letter, like in olden days? Surely she could mail a letter in town. Maybe if she toed the line, Mr. Sakamaki would allow her an outing before Nanami managed to kill all her plants by forgetting to water them.

In the meantime, with an hour left before lunchtime and nothing to do in her room, she might as well revisit the library and read up on some wholesome, edifying topic. Like narcolepsy.

Within ten minutes she had located a promising-looking book ("The Death of Each Day's Life: Sleep and Its Associated Maladies") and curled up among the overstuffed pillows on one of the library window seats. On one side of the glass was the endless green of the grounds; on the other, rows of books standing at attention on the shelves, their heavy smell permeating the library like incense in a temple. Miyu arranged herself in what she thought was a rather becoming pose - legs tucked to one side, the pleats of her skirt splayed out just so, sitting at an angle so that she could immediately see if anyone walked in. She saw herself from above in her mind's eye, the heroine of a TV drama, a soulful ballad playing in the background as she paged through the book with a charming look of concentration on her face. What a quirky, intriguing girl. A fascinating girl. A well-read girl.

If only the book were actually interesting. It felt like a bother to get up and fetch another one.

Was her leg falling asleep? Perhaps she should shift positions.

She looked out the window. A dappled gray horse was grazing in a paddock near what appeared to be an old stable - there were horses here? - and further down the green, there stood a strange circular building made of stone with tiny narrow windows. She had never seen a structure like that before. What was it for? She shifted to get a better view.

A loud thud emanated from somewhere on the far side of the room. She froze.

Her first thought was that Mr. Sakamaki had come into the library to scold her for some reason, but a quick scan of the room proved this assumption wrong. Nevertheless, it was clear that someone or something was there.

She got up and began to softly pace past the bookshelves, but no one was between them. It was only when she reached the far wall that she discovered that the paneled wall behind the last row of shelves had, in fact, a door in it. Pushing it open revealed that the library extended further than she'd thought. The adjoining space seemed to be an annex, as if it used to be a different room but the library had been expanded later. But the ceiling was high just like in the library, and the bookshelves stretched all the way up to the ceiling with a ladder for access.

Someone was seated on the ladder - a tall, masculine form, arms and legs draped limp, head sagging. He had blonde hair. Miyu's heart jumped in anticipation. It was Shu.

He looked like an angel, illuminated in the late morning light that was pouring in through the thick leaded windowpanes. The stained glass flung pale echoes of rich reds and greens and yellows across the walls and woodwork all around him. Dust motes danced lazily up and down in the rays of light in front of his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

She felt that she was looking at a statue in a church and simply watched him for a moment, absorbing the quiet perfection of his presence. Then she began to think again. He was asleep? On a ladder? Narcolepsy was one thing, but sleeping on a ladder seemed a bit extreme, like that French racecar driver she'd read about who had sleepwalked onto a roof. How long had he been sleeping there?

A thick book lying askew at the foot of the ladder appeared to have caused the thud. She crept forward and picked it up, carefully adjusting the pages and smoothing the spine. The title looked like Latin. Was this what he had been reading? What a sophisticated choice. He had probably gone to school abroad, and had private tutors, and toured great cities. Maybe he had visited lots of castles and cathedrals - ancient cathedrals in Europe, not just that cathedral in Nagasaki that had to be rebuilt after the atomic bomb, or the depressing gargantuan concrete cross of St. Mary's in Tokyo.

As someone from a noteworthy family, Shu was the sort of person who would have experienced all those richer, finer, deeper things, and maybe they had become a part of him. And if she was near him, a bit of that magic might rub off on her plain, ordinary self as well.

Miyu glanced up at Shu's face again. Mr. Sakamaki's instructions regarding a sleeping Shu had been clear: request his "removal." But that could be dangerous, she reasoned. He was sitting on the third-highest rung. What if he fell off the ladder while she was gone? Wasn't it worth bending the rules to potentially save someone's life?

Judging from the fact that the book had only just fallen down... perhaps he had only just lapsed into a narcoleptic episode. Maybe his muscles would relax and loosen even more, and in a few short moments he would come tumbling down. He could suffer a traumatic brain injury, or be paralyzed for life. She would be a terrible person if she allowed that to happen. Even Mr. Sakamaki would understand if she explained her noble deed later; it was obviously in his best interests to keep all the patients alive and well.

Besides, there was no reason why Mr. Sakamaki needed to find out about their encounter anyway.

With much scraping and shoving, Miyu managed to push a heavy chaise lounge under the ladder. If she accidentally startled Shu enough to throw him off balance, at least his fall would be broken.

"Excuse me," she said from the foot of the ladder, her labors finished. Part of her wanted him to wake up, while another part was afraid she would somehow spoil everything.

A low grunt emanated from somewhere deep inside Shu, and he twitched almost imperceptibly. His eyes remained closed.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but you're sleeping on a ladder," she said, slightly louder. "It looks a bit dangerous."

"Mmm."

Maybe narcoleptics slept more deeply than ordinary people. "If you can just climb down-"

His brow furrowed slightly. "So noisy."

Well, he wasn't fully asleep then. But he must still be in a daze, or he wouldn't be so rude. "This isn't a good place to sleep." She reached out and awkwardly patted his leg. "Shouldn't you wake up and get down?"

"Do you always harass people like this?"

"What?"

"You know..." He yawned and shifted slightly. "Touching sleeping men without their permission."

"That wasn't - I was just trying to wake you up. You could fall down."

"You're worried about me?" he asked, still not opening his eyes. There was something in the undercurrent of his voice. Was he teasing her?

"Of course. If you fell, you could break a bone or something."

"It would heal."

He was arguing with her? "Or you could hit your head, or be seriously injured. Or even-"

"There are worse ways to die."

He was toying with her. She was getting nowhere.

"I mean, I suppose you'll be all right if you're awake now. Can you get down?"

"I'm going back to sleep."

"Up there?"

No answer. She stood still for a moment, at a loss. Was there no way to get him up? He must be one of those people who weren't themselves in the morning, and said ridiculous things and stomped around delirious until they had their morning coffee.

He opened one eye just a crack and closed it again. "I can't sleep if you hover like that."

"You really should get down and sleep somewhere else," Miyu said, trying to adopt the gently persuasive voice that a mother would use with an irrational toddler.

"You're ordering me around?" Shu's lips shifted into a smirk, even with his eyes closed. "You're pretty bossy for a girl."

Oh, dear. He really was like one of those conglomerate princes in TV dramas. The arrogant, good-looking heirs who'd always had everything handed to them on a platter, and never took no for an answer, and exuded masculine confidence in every situation (except for the occasional brooding scene). And she couldn't help but like it, though she told herself she was annoyed.

"I don't mean to be rude," she said, aware that her heart was beating a little faster. "But you must not be thinking straight, since you only just woke up, and-"

"If you care so much, pull me down." He opened his eyes and fixed her with a half-lidded gaze. "You're probably not strong enough, though."

So it was a test - a flirtatious battle, like when boys would pull on the braids of the girl sitting in front of them in class - an invitation disguised as a challenge. She would call his bluff and give him a little pull then, and they would continue their friendly sparring, and she would forever remember this moment as the moment in the library when it all started.

She reached up, grabbed his shirtsleeve, and gave it a playful tug.

She was not expecting his body to careen forward as if in slow motion, and by the time she realized it, it was too late - he wasn't hanging on, or making an effort to keep his weight on the ladder - he was actually falling, and towards her - and after a horrible moment of shock she felt his body slam into hers and knock her straight back onto the chaise lounge.

It was not as well-cushioned as it had initially appeared, and the back of her head throbbed and she lay still for a moment, the wind knocked out of her. Shu was sort of halfway on top of her. He was extremely heavy.

"Oh," she whispered, not quite coherent, the strange thuddy pain coming and going in the back of her head. "I'm sorry." Why was she apologizing? "I didn't think I pulled that hard." She hadn't pulled that hard. "Are you all right?"

He remained immobile, but apparently alive and conscious, because he mumbled something that she interpreted as "So warm."

She was feeling a bit overly warm herself. She tried to sit up, or at least prop herself up on her elbows, but his arm lay heavy across her midsection. Something pulsed in the back of her head. Was the pain a good sign? Did it mean she didn't have a concussion? 

"Are you all right?" she repeated, his lack of movement concerning. "Can you move?"

"No."

Was he still teasing her? Or was he really incapacitated from narcolepsy? She hardly dared to breathe. This couldn't be happening, she thought. Lying wedged together on a chaise lounge with a man she'd only just met - Shu, of all people - it was ridiculous. Was there no way to extract herself?

"If you could just move a bit, then I'll-"

"Don't get up," he said, his tone suddenly different, his arm locking her in place.

She tensed. What was that supposed to mean?

"I bet you hit your head pretty hard."

"I guess I did," she said with a nervous laugh. Did he want her to stay lying down because he was worried about her? "But I'm okay, I just-"

"This is what happens when you boss me around." He tightened his hold on her.

"I can just-"

"Shush."

It was so casually domineering that Miyu stopped breathing for a moment. She ought to be offended, but some stupid girlish part of her didn't mind.

"Look," she began, "I don't-"

"Be quiet." He shifted slightly. "This is your punishment for waking me up."

Miyu's face heated up. Did he think he was the male lead in some made-for-TV romance movie, dropping lines like that? 

"Well, that shut you up." He let out a low laugh that was hardly more than a ragged exhale.

Too flustered to reply, Miyu gave up on talking and, in an effort to save her pride, tried simply getting up. Shu surprisingly allowed her to wriggle out and made no attempt to adjust his own position. He continued to lie facedown, arms and legs hanging uselessly, his head jammed into a crease between the cushions. There was no way that was comfortable.

Miyu smoothed down her clothes, still trying to process what exactly had happened, and trying to look collected instead of worked up. Did he always treat girls like that, or was he putting on a macho show to downplay his narcolepsy-induced weakness and impress her? She suddenly wondered if he had already seen her when she first came into the library. Like Subaru, had he been watching from the shadows since she first arrived at the facility?

She felt a bit sorry for him. Of course he was treating her brusquely - it was all a front. If his father was a politician, he was probably accustomed to not letting people get too close. Maybe he'd been hurt by people who'd tried to use him in the past, and put up walls to keep it from happening again.

But he wouldn't have teased her and grabbed hold of her like that if he wasn't a bit interested, would he? Even though he'd seen her without any makeup on, and in direct sunlight. Maybe he hadn't opened his eyes quite enough to get a proper look at her.

The clock struck twelve. Miyu remembered Mr. Sakamaki's warning.

"I'm supposed to eat lunch at noon," she said. And then, tentatively, "You haven't eaten yet, have you? Would you like to..."

"Too tired."

Perhaps narcoleptics were more trouble than they were worth. "Well, I still have to go," she said, rather irked. "Mr. Sakamaki will be angry if I'm late."

"Mr. Sakamaki?"

"You know," she said. "He's tall and wears glasses. I'm not talking about Subaru Sakamaki, I mean-"

"Yeah, he'll probably kill you if you're late," Shu said, with an air of complete lack of concern. 

"So I really should go now. I don't want to annoy him."

"Everything annoys him anyway, what's the point in avoiding it?"

This was a refreshing but dangerous perspective. "You aren't careful around him?"

"I do whatever I want," he said. "Too tiresome otherwise."

What a rebel. "Doesn't Mr. Sakamaki punish you for breaking the rules?"

He let out a short laugh with a trace of bitterness lurking beneath it. "He tries." And suddenly he lifted himself up into an actual sitting position on the chaise lounge, though still slouching. 

"You should go to him," he said, his tone different in a way she couldn't quite pinpoint. "You're already late."

"But I'll get in trouble." She hoped against hope that Shu would agree to come with her, and protect her from a lecture somehow.

"Just blame me," Shu said. "Tell him I wouldn't let you go. He'll get the picture." He sank further into the chaise lounge and closed his eyes. 

She supposed that qualified as a sort of protection, but not to the degree she would like. "You're... not hungry?" she asked in a final desperate attempt.

Shu didn't open his eyes. "I'm not hungry, I'm thirsty. But it's all a bother. I don't have the energy right now. I can't even smell you."

An odd comment - since when did tiredness affect one's sense of smell? did Shu not know about the prophylactic spray? - but Miyu let it pass. She regretted saying anything about lunch at all. She should have ignored the clock and told Mr. Sakamaki later that she had a stomachache - she had just ruined her opportunity to keep talking to Shu. She wanted to ask when and where she might see him again, but she already felt foolish, lingering in front of someone who wasn't even looking at her.

"I'll go then," she said reluctantly, and left the room at a snail's pace, glancing back several times to check if his eyes were open (they weren't).

She broke into a dash as soon as she'd closed the library door. "Mr. Sakamaki," she rehearsed under her breath as she rushed down the stairs. "I'm sorry I'm late. I ran into Shu, and he was sleeping so I was going to fetch you immediately, but then he woke up suddenly and wouldn't let me leave. He was having some sort of narcoleptic episode, and he wasn't..." What sounded right? "He wasn't coherent. He was very disoriented." That seemed reasonable. "So I came down as quickly as I could..."

She ran through several more iterations of her spiel as she approached the dining area, her pace slowing as she anticipated seeing the tall form of Mr. Sakamaki. But he wasn't there. There was a note on the table, written in handwriting so perfect that it could have passed as calligraphy. It read:

_Regrettably, a pressing incident has arisen which requires my full attention at this time. You will dine alone today. Please consume the full quantity of beets provided. As usual, you are expected in my laboratory at eight o' clock sharp tomorrow morning. - Mr. Sakamaki_

So Miyu dined alone, and ate every single cooked beet on the table, and washed the dishes. She returned to the library in the hopes of seeing Shu again, but he was gone, although the chaise lounge was still in the wrong place and she had to move it back. He might have done that himself, she thought in annoyance. But of course he wouldn't, if he was some kind of prince. He did seem a bit spoiled. And pushy. But it wasn't all bad. At least he wasn't all wishy-washy like Touma, who had never told her what to do directly and just hinted at it passive-aggressively until she figured it out far too late.

Yes, she thought, a man should be direct and a little pushy. That would allow her to pull away a bit, and get him to chase her.

It was hard to visualize Shu standing upright with his eyes fully open, let alone chasing anybody. But he was narcoleptic and she had clearly met him at a bad time, so that needed to be taken into consideration. If she was going to be living here for six months, there would be ample time to stumble into his orbit. She ought to visit the library again tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize the zodiac is probably getting confusing. Since Mr. Sakamaki doesn't correct her, Miyu is assuming that since Shu is in his third year of university, that he was born in the same year as her (2002). By extension, she assumes that Reiji was born in 2003 but is a year ahead in school (thus the same year as Shu); and that the triplets and Subaru, born in 2004 and 2005 respectively, were all held back a year (hence in their second and first years of university as Mr. Sakamaki had explained during orientation).  
What Miyu doesn't know is that (in this story) Shu was born in 1870, Reiji in 1871, the triplets in 1872, and Subaru in 1873. This also means Shu is actually a Metal Horse (not Water Horse), Reiji is a Metal Sheep, the triplets are Water Monkeys, and Subaru is a Water Rooster.  
She also doesn't know that the reason Shu and Reiji are in the same year of school is because in DL canon, Shu got held back a year due to not studying well. (And Karlheinz sent him to the North Pole as punishment, which would be horrible for a vampire if he was there in summer since it's sunlight 24 hours a day!)  
I know that canonically Shu doesn't like books... but in canon, he also knows Latin. So maybe he'd occasionally look up some Latin choral music or something, who knows?  
Let me know your thoughts! I feel like this chapter is pretty slow compared to the next three, so I'm hoping I can get Chapters 10 through 12 out soon!


End file.
